


Enemy of my Enemy

by Blaithin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Finn Collins Lives, Grounder Culture, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Kidnapping, Lexa/her people, Past Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Smart Lexa, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 86,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaithin/pseuds/Blaithin
Summary: Instead of Anya, Clarke rescues a different grounder from Mount Weather, a strange green-eyed girl called Lexa.Or, Lexa became the commander when she was 13 years old. She knows the benefit of being underestimated.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Finn Collins/Raven Reyes, Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 365
Kudos: 1170





	1. Chapter 1

**Enemy of my Enemy**

**Chapter 1**

Clarke had been dreaming of death since she had woken inside Mount Weather. Her sleep was filled with monsters and pain and no matter how often the doctors told her she was suffering from PTSD or paranoia; Clarke had known something wasn’t right. She had known that Mount Weather was too good to be true, that the shinning, perfect exterior of the mountain had to be hiding a secret evil. And because she was Clarke, because of her father and because the long weeks she had spent trying to keep her people alive, she had gone looking for it.

Clarke didn’t think she could ever have imagined this though.

The room off the hospital ward was something out of a nightmare. Like animal carcasses, two grounders had been strung upside down from the ceiling. Their bodies swayed, limp and dressed only in scraps of bandages, their fingertips skimming the floor. Despite appearances, the grounders weren’t dead, they twitched, fighting against unconsciousness, faces scrunching in pain. Clarke hurried past them only to stop once again, horror locking her muscles.

The rest of the room was filled with cages; they were stacked like children’s building blocks, arranged in neat rows as far as her eyes could see. And in each one was a hunched up, half-dead grounder.

Clarke moved between them, feeling almost like she was floating, her hands shaking at her sides. The grounders war paint and clothes had been removed and they had been reduced to something barely human; cowering, pale naked skeletons who watched her with drugged, defeated eyes. Clarke looked between the cages and the strung-up grounder bodies, her eyes lingering on the multiple cannulas that stole away the grounder’s blood and swallowed, sick with horrifying understanding. This was the dirty secret beneath Mount Weather’s smiling, kindly image. They had created a living blood bank.

From the bottom row of cages, a familiar face peered up at her through a mane of dark gold hair. Clarke's stomach clenched and she felt her face twist in shock. “Anya. “she breathed.

The fierce grounder leader watched her, barely conscious as Clarke threw herself to her knees in front of the cage. Clarke had only ever seen Anya painted for war and it felt wrong to see her like this, bare and reduced. Anya’s head lolled, not strong enough to keep herself upright and for the first time since Clarke had entered this room of horror, she felt fury kindle inside her alongside her fear.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” Clarke hissed urgently; tugging uselessly at the padlock on the cage.

“No.” Anya’s eyes were unfocused, pupils were blown wide, but she moved quicker than Clarke expected and snagged Clarke’s wrist before she could move away. Anya’s words were scrapped through a raw throat. “Her first.”

Still held firm in Anya’s grip, Clarke twisted until her gaze rested on the cage behind them. The caged grounder Anya gestured to was sat sphinx-like. Where the other grounders pressed against their bars, eyes rolling and arms reaching, the girl remained in the depths of her cage, her features hidden in the darkness. Clarke squinted trying to make out her face and caught a flash of green eyes.

“Anya, no…”

“Her first,” Anya repeated fiercely and her fingers biting warningly into Clarke’s skin. Recognising Anya wouldn’t release her until she agreed and knowing even while drugged and injured Anya was stronger than her, Clarke nodded, murmuring her agreement.

Anya’s eyes narrowed before she released her and Clarke darted back out of the row of cages, snagging off a section of pipe. For a moment Clarke hesitated.The grounders were not her friends. Strangely, shared history - blood as it was - had humanised Anya to Clarke in a way that made these cages and torture unbearable to see. That had made it easy to promise to free Anya. And there was the other part of Clarke, the colder harsher part of her that had seen Anya and weighed up the possibility of an alliance or a least a truce while they escaped. But the girl Anya had gestured to was an unknown, and if Clarke released two of the grounders, she would be outnumbered. They might decide they didn’t need a slow, clumsy sky girl.

Anya met her gaze, mouth tightening as if she could hear the thoughts of betrayal running through Clarke’s head. “Please,” Anya said, the word mangled on her tongue, vowels twisted until Clarke almost didn’t recognise it. Clarke suspected that Anya had never begged for anything before in her life.

Clarke scrunched up her face and swore, cursing herself even as she levelled the bar into the lock on the girl’s cage. The lock snapped off and the cage door creaked open. Before Clarke could move away, the girl in the cage surged forward. Clarke tried to stumble away but the grounder was faster, one hand gripping her wrist and the other pressing against her mouth, muffling the cry of shock.

“They’re here.” The girl hissed as Clarke strained against her. The locked entrance beeped, opening to the sound of approaching heeled shoes. Clarke went limp in understanding. The green-eyed grounder retreated into the cage, and Clarke followed her, her heart in her throat and her wrist still held tight in the girl’s hand. Clarke tugged the cage door shut behind her and they both pressed themselves as far as they could into the shadowy depths of the cage.

The Mount Weather doctor moved slowly around the room; her disinterest at the horrors of the room somehow apparent in the leisurely tap of her shoes. Ears straining Clarke tracked the doctor’s movements; listening as she paused and poked at the strung-up bodies. Then the doctor turned towards the cages.

Clarke’s heart started to race, the pounding in her ears so loud she was sure the sound must be echoing around the room. Each step the Mount Weather doctor took seemed to take an eternity; a millennium passed between each breath. Clarke felt like she might pass out, her fear stealing her ability to regulate her breathing. If the doctor saw her, she was dead. If she was dead, she would never save her friends.

The hand locked around Clarke’s wrist squeezed suddenly. The pressure was firm but gentle; lacking Anya’s bruising roughness. Distracted, Clarke glanced up. The grounder was staring straight at her, her eyes unblinking, almost luminously green. In the small space of the cage, their faces were only inches away, close enough that Clarke could feel the heat radiating off the girl’s skin.

The doctor took another step closer. Any moment know she would see them.

Around them, there was a surge of cries. Grounder who had laid defeated and cowering surged against their bars, rattling the cages. The Mount Weather doctor flinched, stumbling backward. She huffed in annoyance before retreating, the clicking of her shoes echoing away into the distance. Then she was gone.

As soon as the door beeped behind the doctor, Clarke spilled out of the cage.

“We have to go; we have to leave now,” Clarke said, her voice shaky. She thrust her arms into the cage, adrenaline making her prepared to drag and carry the grounder girl out of the cage if needed. Instead, the girl deftly skirted Clarke’s outstretched hands, unfurling from the cage like a cat, graceful and powerful. Unlike Anya and the other grounders, her eyes were clear, her movements steady.

“Come on,” Clarke ordered, reaching out to grab the girl’s arm, tugging at her forearm. There was a low rumble of noise in the cages around them, a sudden burst of dangerous energy rippling like a wave through the grounders. They shifted and edged as close as their cages would let them. The hairs on Clarke’s neck prickled, her hare brain letting her know of a danger that she didn’t quite understand. She dropped the girl’s arm. The girl quirked an eyebrow, an expression which in any other circumstance Clarke would have read as amusement.

The grounder girl glanced back at the cage, “Shut the cage door. We need to keep our escape hidden for as long as possible.”

The girl said it with such certainty that Clarke would obey her that she didn’t even wait for Clarke to complete her order before turning away. Clarke, always quick to follow a logical suggestion, moved to do as the girl commanded. When she got back to her feet, the girl was on her knees, pressing her forehead against the metal bars of Anya’s cell. From inside her jail, Anya did the same. Clarke bit back her urgings to hurry, knowing somewhere deep in her gut the significance of the gesture. This was an acknowledgement, a goodbye.

Shivering with fear fuelled adrenaline, Clarke scanned the room for an exit. There was a heavy metal door in the far corner. A warning sign printed in red across its front made Clarke sigh in relief. If it was dangerous to the Mount Weather people it was exactly where she wanted to go.

“We have to go,” Clarke said finally, apology and desperation in her voice as she moved towards the door.

“Go Heda,” Anya whispered and the girl nodded sharply and took off after Clarke.

The metal door was heavy, too old to move smoothly and it groaned in protest, metal grinding together. Hands joined her and the grounder girl yanked hard, her strength forcing the door to open. “Come on!” Clarke panted, slipping through the gap.

The girl followed, hesitating in the doorway. Her unflinching gaze scanned the room, lingering on cages and the tubes of blood and the bodies strung up from the ceiling. Clarke got the impression she was burning the memory into her mind, soaking in the pain and degradation.

“Jus drein jus daun.” The girl said, her voice a growl of feeling. Her words rippled across the room, kindling something in the grounders. A rumble of voices rose, combining and layering until it reminding Clarke of war drums. The grounders rattled at their cages, strained against their jails. They were repeating the same phrase as the girl, banging the metal.

It was, Clarke realised, a war cry.

* * *

Their escape from the mountain was a blur of fear. Clarke wasn’t sure how they had navigated the underground maze; at some point in their mad dash, the grounder girl had started to pick their course, her strong legs eating up ground as Clarke struggled to match her pace. Years cramped into the Ark hadn’t exactly encouraged her physical strength and soon Clarke was sweating, nauseated and struggling to drag air into her lungs. Only the memory of the skip full of dead grounder bodies discarded like rubbish kept her burning, shaking limbs moving.

They turned right, sprinting around a damp corner of the tunnel and tumbled into the sunlight. Clarke stumbled, leaves crunching beneath her feet. She blinked against the watery light as it strained to reach them through the tree cover. The air was sweet; Clarke hadn’t realised how stale, how stagnant the air inside the mountain had been. She inhaled, eyes closing in almost relief.

The grounder girl had stopped too, pausing a few paces ahead of Clarke. She glanced over her shoulder; her eyes even greener against the foliage.

“We can’t stop.” She said. From the tunnel the sound of soldiers running, boots stomping an ominous death beat echoed. Clarke nodded and they started to run once more.

Clarke didn’t know where they were going; every inch of the forest seemed the same, unfamiliar. She had a basic idea from her map of how far away Mount Weather was from the dropship but she didn’t know where the tunnel had emerged, she didn’t even know if they were heading in the right direction. Clarke glanced at the grounder’s back, her mind spinning ideas and strategies like a chess game. The girl’s pace was relentless; she scaled up hills, agile as a cat, her feet nearly soundless despite the leave covered floor. The girl seemed to know where she was going but Clarke had no intention of walking into a grounder village. She needed to find Bellamy and Finn.

With a cry, Clarke stumbled, dropping to the ground. The girl spun at the noise; her face unreadable as she took in Clarke’s slumped position in the mud

“Please,” Clarke panted, “I just need to stop for a moment.”

The girl sighed. “We can stop here; we should be far enough away from the mountain.”

“Thank you,” Clarke said, trying to inject as much sincerity as she could into her words. The grounder tilted her chin up in recognition of Clarke’s words but didn’t respond. Clarke supposed it was too much to think the grounder would thank her for rescuing her.

They moved together to sit behind a fallen tree, agreeing without conversation that they should try to stay hidden. Clarke let her head drop back against the dead tree trunk behind her. She sighed, her limbs were shaking after their run, shivers running through her bones. When she glanced to her right, the grounder was in a similar position, her long neck stretched out and her eyes closed.

Clarke stared at the girl, contemplating her as she tried to decide what to do next. The girl looked, especially in her borrowed clothes and with her eyes closed, more like a child than a warrior. Like Anya, she was slender as a tree branch, muscles and bones, and not much else. Her jawline was razor-sharp, eyes huge but unblinkingly intense, giving her appearance a strange mix of vulnerability and uncanniness. Clarke thought of Anya and wondered if all grounders looked so fierce.

Clarke winced at the memory of Anya. This grounder, she reminded herself, wasn’t Anya, she was an unknown variable. But she had helped Clarke escape the tunnels and she hadn’t tried to attack her yet or abandon her. And Clarke still needed her to get back to the dropship, she needed her to find her people.

“Are you done?” The girl asked lazily, tilting her head and cracking open one eye to stare at Clarke. Clarke felt her cheeks heating, embarrassed as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have.

“Sorry… I just.” Clarke paused, “I’m Clarke.”

“I know who you are, Clarke of the Sky People.” The girl said, her lazy voice sharpening like a blade. Her teeth flashed, a predator’s warning. “You burnt three hundred warriors alive.”

Clarke tensed, swallowing down the smell of burning flesh that filled her nose. The girl was staring at her, waiting.

“They were sent to kill us,” Clarke said finally, her voice hard. The grounder remained unmoved, her face unreadable and Clarke exhaled sharply in frustration, feeling herself losing control, the threads of her plan unraveling. “Look, we have to work together, we have to go and get help. The mountain men took my people too - ”

“I saw no sky people in cages.”

Clarke felt her words fault, flinching at the girl’s cold accusation. “They took us all, they’re prisoners just like your people.”

The grounder huffed disbelievingly but instead of the argument Clarke expected, the girl next pointed question took her by surprise. “If they have all your people, what help could you get.”

“There are more of us coming from the sky, soldiers.”

“More guns.” The grounder said shortly and for a second a flash of something appeared behind her eyes. The emotion was unreadable to Clarke, but it was enough of a tell and she latched onto it, pressing her advantage with hurried words

“Yes guns, we have a lot more guns. And bombs. With our weapons and your people’s knowledge of this land, we can free both our people.”

The grounder’s face was silent, her face back to stone and for a moment Clarke was afraid that she had lost her, that like Anya she wouldn’t be able to see beyond their animosity. But after a moment the girl nodded, a tiny sharp movement of acknowledgement.

Clarke sighed, slumping in relief against the dead tree.

“Clarke,” the girl said slowly, her tongue clicking on the hard K in Clarke’s name, rolling the unfamiliar sound thoughtfully. “I am Lexa.”

Clarke looked over at her, scanning the grounder’s young, beautifully fierce face. “Lexa.” She repeated.


	2. Chapter 2

Any further conversation Clarke wanted had to wait. 

Mount Weather soldiers appeared down in the valley, looking barely human in their hazmat suits as they marched through the undergrowth. Clarke and Lexa scrambled upright, crouching behind the dead tree to watch the soldiers.

Lexa cursed under her breath, her hands flexing at her sides, itching for a weapon.

“No,” Clarke whispered, reaching out to grab Lexa’s shoulders, muscles bunched beneath her grip. “They have guns, you’ll never get close enough. We have to run.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed, a muscle ticked in her jaw and then she nodded. As one they peeled off into the forest, keep low and quiet as possible. Lexa led Clarke up a steep embankment, as agile as a mountain goat while Clarke slipped and stumbled in the mud behind her. They kept climbing, breaking out into a run as soon as the ground levelled. Lexa’s path zig-zagged across the land, seemingly aimless, looping back and forth. She was, Clarke realised, doing her best to lose their pursuers. But every time they paused, they found the soldiers had kept up with them, undeterred by Lexa’s evasive maneuvers, always only a breath away.

“How are they finding us.” Clarke panted, hand on her knees in exhaustion. Lexa was scanning the trees, her eyes as green as the leaves around her. The grounder glanced over at her, stony-faced.

“You move through the forest like a fire. The youngest of our children could track you.”

Clarke glanced back the way they had come, dismayed to see Lexa was correct – her boots had left deep muddy footsteps in the ground and there was a trail of flattened leaves and broken branches. Clake had given the soldiers a guided path right to them.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke started, forehead knotting with anxiety. “I don’t know how to move like you.”

Lexa ignored her; her eyes focused on the distant grey suits of the soldiers. Next to her Clarke tensed, waiting for swift retribution or anger but instead, Lexa tilted her head in thought and glanced back at Clarke. “They are not Trikru.” She said finally.

Clarke looked at her bewildered. Lexa didn’t roll her eyes but Clarke got the impression the girl wanted to.

“Anyone of my people could track you, but the mountain men are not Trikru. They are like the sky people, uncomfortable in the forest; they would not know how to track us.”

An idea suddenly lit up like a firework in Clarke’s head. “Trackers, they might have put a tracker in you.” She scrambled upright, “If I am right, it would be like a bump beneath your skin.”

Lexa patted herself, ripping open the sleeve of her jacket to present her forearm. There, protruding beneath her skin was a lump, ugly and alien in the slender, muscular lines of her arm.

“I can get it out, I just need something sharp –“

Clarke trailed off as Lexa brought her arm to her mouth. A bitten back cry rumbled through the other girl, muffled as her teeth ripped through her flesh. Lexa jerked her head, blood spraying out from between her gritted teeth. Clarke flinched away at the violence of it, silent as the grounder spat the tracker into her hand, green eyes narrowed as she examined the small bullet-shaped tracker

“Does it still work?” Lexa asked, holding the capsule up for Clarke to examine.

Clarke didn’t respond, her gaze was caught on the blood around Lexa’s mouth, coating her teeth and seeping from the wound in her arm. It was black; dark as oil.

“Clarke.” Lexa snapped and Clarke jumped. Lexa shook the capsule, her eyes burning. “Does it still work?”

The capsule was intact, a small red LED light flashing regularly at its base. Clarke nodded

“Good.” Lexa grinned, a vicious smile of sharp, blackened teeth. She stood up, pulling her arm back and capsule soared through the sky and down the valley, disappearing out of sight. Lexa turned in the other direction, “Now we go this way.”

* * *

They carried on until nightfall.

Landing on earth had been an assault on every sense Clarke had, a gauntlet of smells and tastes and sights that she had to battle through to complete even the simplest tasks. It had been paralysing, overwhelming, mesmerising. In her few quiet moments, when none of the 100 needed her, Clarke found herself sitting in the dirt just flexing her fingers back and forth into the ground; she had been captivated by the feeling of soil on her skin, the smell the earth released as she moved it, especially the woody, sweet fragrance that filled the air after rainfall. She wasn’t the only who had been captivated by their new home; Octavia collected flowers, chased butterflies; her enthrallment with the most delicate aspects of their new home a strange contrast to her often daring, forceful personality. Clarke had even caught Bellamy distracted by the feeling of the smooth stones near a lake once, rubbing the pebbles between his thumb and forefinger with a strange awe-filled reverence.

Clarke had dreamt of the Earth many times on the Ark. She suspected everyone on the Ark did; their dreams engineered by the constant promises and stories from their leaders. But she hadn’t known enough to dream about the smell of wet soil or the feeling of perfectly smooth pebbles.

The constant sensation of their new home had changed at some point; a scale-shift from overwhelming and alien to familiar. But the utter blackness of the night was something Clarke she didn’t think she would ever get used to. Ahead of her, Lexa’s sharp eyes seemed to have no problem in the darkness and she moved nimbly, her footsteps confident while Clarke stumbled over roots and hidden branches every few steps.

Lexa glanced over her shoulder as she lagged behind, perfectly poised as Clarke fell once more.

The girl held out a hand, steadying Clarke as she pulled her to her feet. “There is a cave just ahead, we can rest there for the night.”

“I’m not used to travelling at night.” Clarke panted, feeling a sudden urge to defend herself to the grounder as they stopped outside the cave. The cave smelt of animal waste and rotting leaves but it was protected and hidden. Clarke was so exhausted, so tired of falling and stumbling that she didn’t hesitate to drop down on the cave floor, leaves crunching under her as she wiggled up against the rough stone.

“I can tell,” Lexa said, sitting next to her. She was even graceful as she sat down, every movement liquid-smooth despite their full day trek. “I don’t know how your people survived this long.”

“We didn’t.” Clarke said softly, “Half of us are dead. And the other half is captured.”

The words were bitter with guilt and anger. Clarke drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, looking away in case Lexa could see the burning fury, the pain that rattled through her. She had given everything she had to keeping the 100 alive, making decisions and choices that she could never have imagined and doing things that haunted her every sleepless night but it not been enough. She had still failed.

Lexa was silent, but Clarke could feel the girl’s eyes on her, watching her with a cold, curious calmness. Clarke was getting rather sick of feeling like a lab rat being examined by a curious scientist.

“What.” She finally snapped.

Lexa tilted her head, “You are their commander,” She said. “You feel responsible for their safety.”

Clarke hesitated but nodded. It was both too simple and too complicated an explanation but it was as close as she was going to disclose to the grounder.

“I understand,” Lexa said softly and Clarke pressed her lips together. It wouldn’t help her cause to dismiss Lexa’s overtures of empathy but she wanted to. How could Lexa know how Clarke felt, how could she possibly know what it was to be responsible for the safety of her people.

A low, barely audible hiss of pain made Clarke lookup. Lexa was hunched over, cradling her arm to her chest gingerly. Her strange black blood was seeping through her fingers, running in dark streams down her forearm and pooling into the crook of her elbow. Clarke swallowed, disturbed by the sight of it, she had no idea what could cause black blood.

“Let me wrap that for you,” Clarke said, reaching out to the girl. Lexa pulled away, her fierce eyes daring Clarke to take a step forward.

“Please,” Clarke tried, “It will get infected.”

Lexa hesitated and then thrust her arm into Clarke’s hands. 

Clarke ripped a strip off her shirt, wrapping the wound easily. Nothing was sterilised, the material she wrapped around Lexa’s arm was covered in dirt but at least the pressure would stem the bleeding. It would last until they got back to the dropship, or found the ark. Clark tied a knot into the material, her fingers were black when she finished, stained by Lexa’s blood.

Lexa remained perfectly still throughout the process, watching her unblinkingly through matted, dirt-clogged tendrils of dark hair. Clarke leaned back and Lexa took this as a sign they were finished and folded her arm back into her body, pulling down her ripped jacket arm to her wrist protectively.

“Did the mountain men do that to you?” Clarke asked softly, watching as the grounder wiped her wet, blackened fingers against her borrowed jeans.

“What?”

“Your blood. Did they make it black?”

Lexa’s lips twitched. “No,” she said and there was a finality to her words, letting Clarke know that she would not get any further in that line of questioning. Clarke had grown good at knowing when and where she could push people so she accepted it easily, besides it wasn’t the question she really wanted to know the answer to.

“Lexa?”

“hmmm.”

“Why did Anya want me to take you?” Clarke asked.

A muscle jumped in Lexa’s jaw; the first hint of real emotion Clarke had managed to tease out of the other girl.

“They hadn’t bled me yet. She knew I was still strong.”

Lexa met Clarke’s eyes, daring her to call her out on her lie. Clarke remained silent, purposefully keeping her gaze off Lexa’s covered arms where she knew she would find the tell-tale pinprick from roughly used needles

Lexa’s black blood, Anya’s sacrifice, the way the caged grounders had reacted to her. Clarke looked at Lexa’s profile - her beautiful, young face marred by dirt and exhaustion – and wondered who exactly she was.

* * *

They moved out at first light, Clarke falling in easily behind Lexa, stepping into her footprints with dogged exhaustion.

A few hours in, the endless blur of trees started to feel different, almost familiar. Clarke felt herself sigh in relief; she was near the dropship. Clarke had been spinning plans and manipulations since she had seen Anya in that cage. She had needed a grounder on her side, someone to help her with the forest, the terrain. Someone to help her escape the mountain. But now she was nearly home. As soon as she saw a familiar route she would leave, go to the dropship. She would find Bellamy and Finn and together they would find the Ark. If she could keep Lexa at her side it would be better. Unlike Anya’s ferocious hostility, Lexa seemed more measured, contained. Clarke thought that with a bit more time she could convince Lexa to speak for them, to get the grounders to stop attacking her people. Maybe she could even get them to help fight Mount Weather; if they worked together, they could save both their people. It was almost funny how quickly her nightmarish demons were starting to look like friends.

Enemy of my enemy. Clarke thought grimly.

Lost in her plans for the future and lulled into a sense of security, Clarke didn’t notice the signs of life around them until Lexa walked them right into an ambush.

Clarke spotted the grounders too late, stumbling backwards when she glanced down to see a pair of dark eyes watching from the undergrowth. There was another set of eyes to the man's right and a third to his left; all three men unblinking like predators as they watched the two girls. The glint of an axe, gripped firmly in the grounder’s hands made Clarke’s heart shot up into her throat. Fear choked her and she wobbled backward voiceless, stumbling right into Lexa. Lexa grabbed her forearm, forcing Clarke to stillness. She had, Clarke noted in surprise, came to a standstill, and was stood shoulders back and eyes trained forward expectantly.

Half a dozen men emerged into the clearing. The warriors were big, armed with clubs and bows and arrows but missing the masks and war paint that Anya’s warriors had worn. Still, Clarke trembled at the sight of them, every fiber of her being screaming at her to run. 

“Stay still. They will kill you if you try to run.” Lexa said to Clarke under her breath softly. Unlike Clarke looked unbothered by their situation, unphased as the weapons trained on them. But then, why would she be, these were her people. Clarke understood in a cold wave of fury. 

“I saved you.” Clarke hissed and raised her hands in defeated surrender as the warriors circled them.

Lexa ignored her and, to Clarke's confusion, raised her hands in surrender as well. Clarke frowning, eyes scanning the girl's dirt-smeared face, trying to pick out meaning from the slow, cat-like blink of her eyelids. Maybe this wasn’t the betrayal Clarke thought it was, on maybe this wasn’t Lexa’s village. Clarke’s fingers itched, aching longingly for a gun. These men weren’t Anya’s army, a gun would have given her enough leverage to walk away.

The warriors shouted something at them, their words incomprehensible but the warning clear.

“Lexa, what is going on,” Clarke asked, flinching as one of the warriors aimed an arrow at her.

Lexa ignored her, calling out a few calm sentences in Trigedasleng. The only word Clarke understood was Lexa’s name but whatever the grounder had said it must have been fairly impressive as it sparked a fury of conversation through the warriors. Bows and arrows dropped abruptly to the ground; the men shifted on their feet nervously, their gazes skating over Lexa and Clarke, suddenly unable to focus on them. One of the men looked as if he was about to drop to the ground, stopped only when Lexa released another rapid string of words. There was a pause, the men looking between themselves. Clarke didn’t need to understand their language to be able to read their confusion and hesitation.

“What did you say?” Clarke demanded; unsurprised when Lexa choose to ignore her once more.

Finally, one of the warriors stepped forward, obviously the appointed leader. He only had eyes for Lexa, dismissing Clarke in a single glance. Next to the grounder girl he was huge, towering over her slight, unarmed figure. Jagged blue lines framed his eyes and his arms bulged with muscles. He looked like he could have snapped Lexa’s spine with a single hand. And yet, Clarke got the distinct impression of wariness from him.

The tattooed warrior and Lexa exchanged a rapid dialogue; the man’s face knotting tighter and tighter as the conversation progressed. Clarke couldn’t see Lexa’s face, forced instead to understand their conversation solely by the man’s expressions. The man sighed, nodding at Lexa and then he was turning back to his warriors, issuing out a series of sharp commands. 

“Lexa, what is going on?” Clarke hissed, stepping closer to the girl. “I have to go to the dropship. I have to find my friends.”

“There’s no one at the dropship,” Lexa said, her voice flat. “Most of your people were taken by the mountain men. Those that were left, went to with other sky people.”

“Other sky people?”

“It is as you said, more of you came from the sky.” Lexa met Clarke’s gaze; green eyes almost black despite the midday sun. “and they brought guns.”

* * *

Inside Mount Weather Doctor Tsing was having a bad day.

The discovery that Clarke Griffin had been able to escape by going through the harvest chamber had caused outrage among the president and his council. As Mount Weather’s chief medical officer and lead on the Harvest Project, it had been Lorelai’s head on the chopping block. So far, she had spent three hours being scolded by the council like a child and then another three hours escorting Cage Wallace and his gun-toting goons around the Harvest Chamber so they could poke and prod every door and panel and test tube.

“Are you finished?” She asked Cage, exasperated.

He looked over her, taking in her crossed arms and tapping foot and smirked. Until this point, it had always been Lorelai who had been the golden child to Cage’s proverbial black sheep and he was enjoying this turn of events way too much for her liking.

“The president has asked me to make sure that you don’t have another security breach.”

“There won’t be.” Lorelai hissed, silently cursing Clarke. What type of person crawled through a vent, escaped out of a waste-disposal shaft and ran straight into Grounder territory anyway. They had underestimated the girl, assuming she was just another rebellious teenager. “You’ve increased the Cerberus guard, you’ve doubled our security and reviewed all the airlocks. What more do you want here!”

Cage shrugged, moving indifferently down her lab. Lorelai grimaced as he trailed his fingers over the scattered test tubs and poked at the dangling grounder body. There was a rumble from the back of the room and Cage sneered at he caged grounders, indifferent to their hateful, watchful eyes. When Lorelai had started to work in the Harvest Chamber, the grounders had scared her. She used to have nightmares of them hiding in the dark corners of her sleeping quarters, watching with those dark, savage eyes, waiting for her to fall asleep. Nowadays she barely noticed them, as indifferent to them as she was to her lab rats. Although lab rats could at least clean themselves.

Cage turned back to face her, a purposeful move to present his back and his indifference to their caged enemies. Men, Lorelai thought with distaste, were so predictable.

“What do you think she thought when she found herself in her?” Cage asked, his voice contemplative as he stared up at the dangling body of the grounder. Lorelai found herself looking too. This grounder was started to fail; her skin was almost translucent, veins collapsing from too many needles. Her bones protruded from beneath her skin and hair was falling out in chunks. One more treatment and she would have to be disposed.

“Do you think she thought we were monsters?” Cage asked.

Lorelai scoffed and rolled her eyes, “They’re the monsters. We’re just trying to survive. I’m doing what I need to, to keep my people alive.”

A small shudder ran through Cage, some strange expulsion of feeling that he shrugged away with a grimace. Lorelai could guess what he was thinking about; his father always had been a bleeding heart when it came to the grounders. His distaste for the Harvest and Cerberus projects was well known and he had shot down every recommended change to either programme for the past 10 years. It was frustrating, to say the least. Under a less constraining leader, Lorelai knew she could do more for her people, she could figure a way out of this dark, suffocating bunker. But progress required experimentation. She glanced at Cage contemplative.

“And the grounder she escaped with?” Cage continued on, ignorant to Lorelai’s thoughts. “Why did she take her?”

Lorelai blinked. Her energy had been focused on Clarke and how she had escaped, she hadn’t time to think about the grounder Clarke had taken with her. As to why Clarke had taken a grounder, Lorelai could only guess. Maybe Clarke had known her from before, or maybe Clarke had made a deal with her. Clarke had proven herself pragmatic, she must have known she couldn’t make it through the surrounding forest without help. Stupid of her to align herself with the grounders, however; the girl would betray her. There was no honour among savages.

Lorelai glanced over at the number on the empty cage, ignoring the rumble of discontent among the surrounding cages and typed the ID into her database's search function. All of the grounders they took in, for both the Cerberus and the Harvest Projects went through the same induction after decontamination; a process of photographs, measuring and tagging. And for those sent to the Harvest Project a blood test to check for disease and blood type.

Lorelai brought up the grounder's file. The girl was young, pretty for a grounder, with a mane of brown hair and green eyes that seemed to stare right through the computer screen. Lorelai thought she looked vaguely familiar but didn’t remember her induction at all. She scrolled down, a noise escaping her involuntarily.

“What?” Cage asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing. She was a new one, only been here a few days. It’s just –“ Lorelai turned around with a frown, “Her initial blood tests were contaminated.”

“Contaminated?”

“Yeah,” Lorelai opened up the fridge to the right of Cage. The vial she was after was easy to spot, a dark stain in a sea of red. She took the vial and held it up to the light. The liquid looked like oil but moved like fresh blood, leaving dark stains against the glass as she titled it. “I told the technician to take another sample, this must have been exposed to the air.”

Cage stood next to her silently as she bent down, rooting through another set of tubes. Once again, the vial was easy to find. She took the second vial and held them side by side silently. A perfect match in colour.

“It’s black.” Cage said with a frown, taking one of the vials, “What causes black blood?”

“I thought the blood had just oxidized. But actual black blood….” Lorelai shook her head in confusion, “Methemoglobinemia? Or maybe this is some new disease we’ve never seen before.” She swallowed, suddenly wishing she had her protective suit on, this could be biological warfare. They had seen the grounders use it against each other before.

“Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe there was a reason Clarke took her. Maybe she knows something we don’t.” Cage handed the vial back to Lorelai. “I want to know why this grounder’s blood is black. I want to know what makes this grounder so special.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually write in extreme, limited third person, so jumping between character perspectives is different for me. Hopefully it works.
> 
> Lorelai's quote about 'progress requires experimentation' is a complete rip off from Daniel Whitehall saying in agents of shield 'Discovery requires experimentation'. Which is probably an indication of how I view her character.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke itched with impatience, watching the grounders suspiciously from her position near a communal fire.

After their confrontation in the clearing, Clarke and Lexa were escorted through the forest to a small village. Despite the relaxed attitude of the party, it was obvious to Clarke that she wasn’t going to be allowed to leave. Warriors stalked them in the undergrowth, their swords glinting in the fading light. Clarke had followed Lexa without comment, glaring holes into the girl’s back. The girl had seemed unbothered, walking tall and loose-limbed beside the tattooed leader. The two grounders murmured to each other in Trigedasleng, their conversation punctuated by discreet glances the man sent Clarke over his shoulder. Clarke had made a point to catch his eye and sneer back.

The village, when they reached it, was nothing like Clarke had imagined: a small cluster of homes built out of repurposed wood and moss-covered metal sheets. The wooden walls had been decorated with swirls of blue paint that reminded Clarke of the tattoos around their warriors’ eyes and the curling paths between the buildings were well worn, speaking of a regular flow of people. Like all things grounder, there was a hint of another world, another time beneath the simple primitive living: the rotting metal shell of a car half-swallowed by weeds lingered at the far side of the village and the roofs were patched together from old road signs, warning of road closures and oncoming traffic. Clarke found her gaze lingering on the signs, wondering if the grounders even had enough cultural memory to make sense of them.

As their party made their way to the centre of the village, people emerged like forest animals to peer at Clarke and Lexa from the shadows. The only grounders Clarke had seen previously had been warriors like Lincoln and Anya. These people were softer, wide-eyed. Half of them were children, peeping out from behind their mother’s skirts. Clarke turned her gaze away, remembering Anya’s telling her that their flares had burnt down a village. She hoped it looked nothing like this one.

A hand on Clarke’s shoulder drew her to a stop and she found a warrior behind her, huge and imposing. He gestured to a log next to the fire, “Hod op.” he said, repeating the phrase when Clarke stared at him blankly.

“He’s saying you are to wait here,” Lexa said, from Clarke’s side. She moved like a shadow, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. The warrior released Clarke abruptly, pulling away from her as if her skin burnt and retreated to a safe distance.

“I need to find my people.” Clarke snapped, frustrated and still thrumming with fear.

“I know,” Lexa said, an unmovable mountain in the face of Clarke’s stormy emotions. “And I will take you to them.”

Clarke’s mouth tightening in distrust. She didn’t trust grounders and she wasn’t naïve enough to trust a promise given by a captor. These people might not have harmed her but Lexa had kept the truth from her by leading them here. And, Clarke reminded herself anxiously, Lexa knew that Anya’s warriors had been burnt alive. This could still turn into a trap.

“When.” Clarke bit out.

“When I have talked to the leaders here.” Lexa tilted her head to the waiting warriors. They, and the rest of the village, were watching them, silent and wide-eyed. Clarke wondered if she was really that frightening to inspire such looks. “They want to know what happened in the mountain. They can send a message to our armies.”

“You’re calling an army?”

“The army was already coming; your people invaded our lands.” Lexa said, voice hard, continuing even as Clarke’s face twisted in protest “But I can tell them what happened in the mountain. It will stop their attack. Then I will take you to the sky people.”

Clarke turned this piece of information around, chewing on it. Telling an encroaching grounder army not attack was a fair reason to wait but she couldn’t help but feel anxious, worried about what came after, worried about what they would decide to do with her.

“They won’t let me just go to my people,” Clarke said finally and Lexa’s mouth twitched, the corner of her mouth threatening to twist her usually impassive expression into one of amusement.

“I will take you back to your people, I promise,” Lexa said, and then she was gone, stalking off towards the waiting warriors.

A hand landed hard on Clarke’s shoulder; holding her back. Clarke felt her cheeks burn realising she had automatically tried to follow Lexa; the sight of her slender figure being enveloped into a fold of fierce-looking men and women moving Clarke automatically to action. With a huff of frustration, Clarke shrugged off her grounder guard and let herself drop heavily down onto the log.

* * *

Lexa was gone for what felt like forever. Worn out from two days of running for her life on no food, Clarke felt herself listing to one side, drifting into unconsciousness. Her eyelids, too heavy to keep open, slid closed and then she was falling, startled awake from a sleep she hadn’t even realised she had slipped into. A shriek escaped Clarke as she listed off the log, hitting the ground hard enough to make her teeth rattle with the impact.

From above her, there was a low amused chuckle. Rubbing her bruised leg, Clarke scowled up at the laughing warrior. It was the tattooed warrior who had talked to Lexa in the clearing. Clarke raised an eyebrow in surprise at his presence, she had assumed as the leader of this village he would be with the other warriors as they interrogated Lexa. The warrior held out his hand to Clarke, lifting her as easily as if she was a small child.

“I am Nyko.” He said as she settled back onto the log.

“Clarke.”

Nyko gestured over a nearby woman, smiling as he took a plate and water from her.

“Here,” he said to Clarke, offering her the wooden plate. Hot, fragrant meat filled Clarke’s senses, making her mouth fill with saliva. She swallowed drily, her stomach clenching. She had not eaten anything since Mount Weather and she felt almost faint with hunger. Clarke fisted her hands together definitely, ragged fingernail biting in her palms.

Nyko smiled seemingly amused, “It is not poisoned.”

“Why should I believe you.” Clarke retorted.

“I am told you saved ... Lexa.” Nyko hesitated over Lexa’s name, rolling it across his tongue as if it was unfamiliar to him. “You have the gratitude of our people. No harm will come to you here.”

Clarke searched his face; his fierce rugged exterior was softer than she had thought possible, sincerity gleaming in his pale eyes. Anya had said that taking Lincoln had been an act of war, maybe saving even just one of the grounders was enough to be the opposite. Clarke sighed and took the plate, stuffing a piece of meat into her mouth, her eyes never leaving the warrior’s face. He watched her, teeth flashing in amusement. In all the weeks that Clarke had spent battling the grounders, she had never imagined they would laugh.

For some minutes they remained in a near-comfortable silence, Clarke tearing through her meal like an animal. It was nothing like the delicate, refined food from Mount Weather. The meat was blackened and charred; the crude open-fire that had been used to heat the pork leaving a lingering taste of smoke on Clarke’s tongue. It was, she thought, her teeth ripping viciously through a lump of gristle, perfect.

Following her meal, Clarke sat slumped wearily on her log, sipping at the water the village woman provided. Hunger sated, Clarke’s thoughts turned to her people, to Bellamy and Finn, to the other sky people Lexa had told her of. How many had made it down she wondered. Would there be enough soldiers to march on Mount Weather? She shuffled in impatience; eyes lingering on the hut where Lexa had been taken to.

“Patience.” The warrior murmured beside her, his voice a low rumble of thunder.

Clarke glanced up at him. “What is taking so long.”

“Heda… the leaders are deciding what to do. No one has ever escaped the mountain before.”

Clarke felt a vague anxiety strum through her, “Will she be ok?”

Nyko chuckled “She will be fine.”

“I thought you would be in there as the leader,” Clarke said, from the way the warrior looked at her she suspected her subtlety could do more work.

“I am not the leader of the village. Indra is, but she is away tonight, called to the Commander’s army.”

“The Commander?”

“Of the 12 clans.”

“12 clans,” Clarke repeated hollowly, her stomach dropping. “The commander, he leads all of you?”

“Yes.” There was a familiar twitch at the corners of Nyko’s face. Clarke was starting to get sick of feeling like she was being left out of a joke. Or that to the grounders she was the joke.

“Is he coming here to attack my people?”

Nyko shrugged. “Maybe. I do not know the workings of the commander’s mind.”

An army, an army made of twelve clans, all lead by one man. Clarke spun this new information round and round, examining it like a puzzle piece. She was realising that she had underestimated how many grounders there were. The grounder warrior who had attacked the dropship hadn’t been an army, they had been a scouting party. And the grounders were angry, angry that Clarke’s people had landed in their territory, angry that they had wiped out Anya’s warriors. Clarke didn’t know if her people could fight this enemy, especially not when they had to stop Mount Weather.

Clarke glanced over at Nyko, a half-formed idea blossoming in her mind.

* * *

Clarke was half asleep once more when Lexa finally emerged.

Lexa had taken the time to change. Medical bandages replaced with something clean and dark that covered her from neck to ankle and knotted tight around her waist. Her hair had been washed, leaving her with a drying mane of brown curls that swept behind her shoulders, styled into an intricate overlapping pattern of small entwining braids. Unlike Clarke, she seemed almost completely refreshed, her green eyes bright as she sat down.

“You took your time,” Clarke said, no bite in her words. She should have been furious at the delay but she was so tired, and Lexa’s clean, glowing appearance was distracting. Clarke had been aware that Lexa was attractive, even when the girl was unwashed and clad only in rags. But now Clarke found her eyes lingering on the girls’ unblemished skin, her high cheekbones and the barely visible edges of her collarbones. Lexa’s youth and slightness had been hidden away, disguised by bulky leather and layers. She looked older, less approachable, more striking. Clarke looked away, suddenly aware that she was still covered in filth and blood, a frightful and ugly contrast to Lexa.

“There was a lot to discuss,” Lexa replied; she seemed if possible, even more untouchable than usual. A calm self-assurance that verged on serenity.

“What will happen now.”

“Messages are being sent. Soon all my people will know what is happening in the mountain.”

Clarke nodded and rubbed at her face wearily.

“There is a spare room here if you would like to rest.” Lexa offered softly.

“No. I need to leave; I need to find my people.”

Lexa nodded, looking unsurprised by Clarke’s response. The fire crackled before them, it’s dancing light throwing Lexa’s contemplative face into a sharp contrast of angles, flames sparking deep in her pupils. Clarke had thought Lexa was in her element in the forest, moving half-wild in the dark as soft-footed as a cat. But she had been wrong. Lexa had been made for flames.

“I owe you a life debt.” Lexa finally said, her voice soft enough that Clarke had to strain to hear over the fire.

Clarke made a noise of recognition, unsure of how to respond.

“Anya….” Clarke tried to say but trailed off as Lexa turned to meet her gaze. Most people held Clarke’s gaze for a moment, blinking or letting their eyes skate around her face when things became uncomfortable. Lexa didn’t do that; her eyes stayed on Clarke’s, seemingly unaware of the disquieting awkwardness of it.

“My people are still inside Mount Weather.” Clarke said, looking away, “I need to get them out of there. Your people are in there too. We could work together, we could….”

Lexa hummed, her words slow and flat in contrast to Clarke’s increasingly impassioned speech. “The mountain men have been taking from Trikru for generators. Their attacks are unpredictable, sometimes the reapers attack scouting or hunting parties. Sometimes whole villages disappear. They take warriors, healers, farmers, children. No one ever escapes alive.” Lexa’s mouth twisted, “But we find our people's bodies. They leave them broken and naked, thrown away like waste. No burial, no fire.”

“I’m sorry.” Whispered Clarke, stomach twisting at the story.

“We have fought the mountain before. We are not so dishonourable that we would let our enemies steal our children and not fight back.” Lexa raised one leg, drumming long fingers against her knee thoughtfully. “But the mountain men retaliated, they sent a weapon that destroyed our army and left a hole in the woods so big you couldn’t see across it.”

“A missile.” Clark breathed, “They have missiles.”

Lexa’s face was unreadable. If she knew what a missile was Clarke couldn’t tell.

“So now you understand why the commander cannot enter into a war with the mountain men.”

“But we could help.” Clarke said, “With our technology and - .”

“Your people can stop the mountain from releasing missiles?” Lexa asked pointedly.

“No. I mean maybe…” Clarke flustered. “But they haven’t released any missiles since, right?”

Lexa blinked slowly before nodded.

“And how long ago did it happen.”

“It was before I was born. Maybe four decades ago.”

“That’s a long time. A long time ago not to use another one. It could mean they don’t have any more missiles.”

“Or it could mean they need to keep some of us alive.” Lexa’s hand came to rest on her arm, lingering on her injury. Clarke faltered, unable to counter Lexa’s assumption. 

“I thought they were just senseless monsters who liked to torture us.” Lexa added, flames dancing in the black mirrors of her pupils. “But they were using us. They need us.”

Clarke nodded, remembering “They were using your blood to heal themselves. I saw a soldier come in with radiation burns hours later he was fine. It’s like your blood is healing them somehow. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Jakas,” Lexa muttered under her breath. At Clarke’s raised eyebrow she translated “Thieves.”

“They were trying to survive,” Clarke said defeatedly.

“Say that again when they put your people in cages like animals.”

Clarke flinched at Lexa’s words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean….”

A heavy silence stretched between them and for a second Clarke was scared she ruined the easy comradery between them. Then Lexa sighed and started to talk again.

“Anya was my mentor. I was her second, she taught me to fight, to survive. She was a mother to me after mine was taken by the mountain.” Lexa's voice was steady but Clarke was starting to learn that she was sounded her calmest when she was anything but. “I do want to save my people, Clarke. I want to destroy the mountain. But the commander will not lead our people into a war we cannot win.”

“What if we worked together. What if my people had technology that could stop the missiles or the reapers?”

Lexa raised one eyebrow, “You forget that your people are trespassing in Trikru land. Our people are not allies.”

“But we could be, right? You could come with me to find my people; you could tell them what happened in the mountain. We could show your people we can work together.”

Lexa leaned back, a distance opening up between her and Clarke. Clarke felt cold at her loss, not realising how close they had been sitting. Her cheeks felt heated suddenly.

“No Clarke. I cannot leave my people again.” Lexa stood up; face even closed. “But I will pay my debt, I will take you to your ship as promised.”

* * *

They left the village as the light of day started to fade.

As expected, they were stopped by a furious Nyko and for a moment Clarke was certain they would be marched back into the village and tied to a post like the horses if needed. But Lexa approached Nyko with the same unwavering calmness she always spoke to Clarke with and after a few minutes of incomprehensible conversation his warriors peeled away grudgingly.

“If any harm comes to her, there will be no place I won’t find you,” Nyko muttered under his breath as he handed Clarke a small flask of water.

“I won’t hurt her,” Clarke replied easily. It was easy to sound sincere; Clarke always meant what she said, always meant her promises. But she was at heart a pragmatist; if breaking her promise to Nyko meant she could retrieve her people from the mountain, she would do it in a heartbeat. She smiled at Nyko’s grim face, her stomach twisting at the thought. Knowing what lengths, she would, had gone to, to save her people didn’t stop her from feeling guilt.

“Come Clarke,” Lexa called over her shoulder, her tongue clicking on the hard K. While Clarke had been given a flask of water; Lexa had been adorned with weapons. A sword slung across her back and daggers strapped to her thighs. A small smile flittered across her face as Clarke looked at her, and she seemed to stand taller, shoulders drawn straight, hair thrown back.

“Just borrowed. But it would foolish to travel at night without a weapon.”

Because of grounders. Clarke thought automatically, managing to keep herself for saying it out loud by biting into her bottom lip. Lexa gave a look that said she knew anyway.

Their path was narrow and winding, following the natural animal trails through the forest. But it was flat and Lexa allowed them a more leisurely pace than their mad dash from Mount Weather.

“Lexa,” Clarke called finally, too many thoughts and ideas fireworking inside her to keep quiet. “Was that your village?”

“No,” Lexa replied, not turning around.

“Oh, do you live in another village nearby then?” Clarke asked, thinking about armies, grounder camps and the commander.

Lexa snorted, “You are not subtle.”

“Sorry.”

“I live to the west, a two-day trek from here.” Lexa glanced over her shoulder, a flash of wicked amusement in her green eyes. “Well a two-day trek for me, your journey would take longer.”

Clarke pulled a face at her and for a moment they grinned together; the white flash of Lexa’s teeth the only thing visible in the fading light. It was alarming how easy it was, how comfortable Clarke felt. A week ago, had Clarke known that the grounders were her enemies. The grounder’s violence, their earthy primitiveness had made it easy to view as uncivilised, as not quite human. Clarke had killed them and slept sound, knowing it was them or her people. But now there was Lexa. And the village women who had fed her. And Nyko, for all his parting threat, had entertained Clarke and laughed when she fell over. It was confusing.

“But I was born in Trikru,” Lexa continued, oblivious to Clarke’s internal conflict. “Indra was Anya’s mentor. I knew her people would help us.”

Clarke nodded, filing the information away. Mentors and seconds. Villages bound together by a series of warrior bonds and clan ties. All answerable to a strange, powerful commander.

“Nyko said your people are down in the valley, over the next hill,” Lexa said, pointing up a steep, tree choked slope. Clarke squinted into the distance. The hill was too steep, the trees too dense to see anything beyond a sliver of sky burnished with the fading orange of the setting sun.

Without waiting for a response, Lexa moved forward. Their path was steep, congested with thin, young saplings and Clarke made slow progress, forced to weave under and between leafy limbs. Clarke found herself falling behind once more, panting in exertion as Lexa leapt nimbly ahead. At the top of the hill, Lexa stopped. Her silhouette was proud, tall and dark against the bloody glow of the sunset. When Clarke drew level with her, Lexa remained immobile. Her eyes were flat, hard, as she stared down into the valley.

Clarke followed Lexa’s eyeline and gasped.

The Ark.

The central ring of the Ark had crashed down into the valley, a huge, gleaming arch of metal stretched upwards into the sky, curling backwards to connect with the mountain behind it. The force of the crash had levelled the forest and the charred, cleared ground had become a campsite; makeshift tents and structures clustered in the protective shadow of the spaceship. Electric lights twinkled throughout the camp and there was a buzzing electric fence. And people, so many people.

It was possibly the most beautiful thing Clarke had ever seen.

She turned to Lexa, almost floating with elation, feeling her face splitting into a huge grin. The expression felt alien on Clarke’s face; so little used in the past month, past year. Lexa however did not smile back. Her eyes remained on the Ark; her mouth pressed into a thin troubled line.

“This is just part of it,” Clarke said, “It split into pieces as it was falling. There will be more of these sites, scattered. Just like this.”

The sentence hung between them; a bluff, a promise of power. Lexa raised an eyebrow but gave Clarke a little nod of her head in acknowledgement of her words.

“We part ways here. Clarke of the Sky People.”

“You’re not coming any further?”

Lexa’s face was distant, turned back down towards the patrolling soldiers and their guns. “I do not think I would be welcomed.”

“If you met them it would change things,” Clarke said, unable to stop herself trying one more time. “I know our people could work together. I know we can help each other. We just need to convince them we’re not enemies.”

Lexa smiled; her teeth sharp. “And I have no doubt you will find a way to convince them of that.”

She held out an arm, almost as if she was offering Clarke her hand to shake but when Clarke reached to her, Lexa adjusted their grips until they were holding each other at the top of their forearms, arms entwined. The position was far more intimate than a handshake, drawing them close enough that Clarke was able to see the spots of gold in Lexa’s green eyes.

“A warrior’s greeting, between allies,” Lexa told her softly. “I hope you manage to convince both our people to fight the mountain together.”

“I will,” Clarke said, her fingers gripping into Lexa’s muscular forearm. “May we meet again.”

Behind them, a twig snapped.

Lexa’s face went blank, a curtain falling across a stage. She released Clarke’s arms, hand moving slowly to the dagger strapped to her thigh. There was another rustle of movement and Lexa spun around, moving faster than Clarke thought possible, her dagger held up before her.

“Lexa what…”

“Quiet.” Lexa hissed; she stepped forward, pushing Clarke behind her.

Slightly further to the right, someone coughed, boots heavy against the littered forest floor. Lexa surged. She ran, disappeared between one breath and the next into the undergrowth. Clarke stumbled in the dark, trying to trace Lexa’s movements in the trees, trying to see their would-be stalker.

A bang of a gun firing echoed through the forest suddenly.

“Lexa!” Clarke cried, her feet carrying her towards the sound, towards Lexa and the gun. There was a scuffle, a man’s cry of pain and then Lexa’s face appeared between the leaves, a dark streak of blood running down from her nose. Her hair had unravelled from their neat braids and dark strands fell around her face, framing her barred teeth as she stepped forward.

Murphy, beaten and scared was clasped to Lexa’s chest. His neck had been forced backwards by the knife pressed hard into his throat.

“Murphy?” Clarke asked in surprise.

“You know this man?” Lexa asked, her mouth was stretched into a snarl, eyebrows draw low and suspicious over her eyes. Clarke held her hands up and out in surrender, suddenly realising how this looked.

“It’s not like that, he betrayed us.”

“And yet he is here, with one of your guns aimed at me.”

“Lexa, please.” Clarke pleaded. Murphy's eyes were darting around; unfocused. Clarke wondered just how hard Lexa had hit him but despite his injury, she couldn’t find an ounce of pity in herself for the boy.

Lexa stared at Clarke silently, a muscle ticking in her jaw. The fragile comradery they had built was stretched taut to breaking point. Lexa’s expression had settled into something neutral, but Clarke could feel the barely contained rage emanating from the girl. She had forgotten that Lexa was a grounder, raised with a sword in her hand from the moment she could walk; she had forgotten that Lexa was dangerous.

Before Clarke could protest her case any further; the silence of the hilltop was broken by a crunch of leaves behind them. A familiar voice cried out Clarke’s name and Clarke, found herself twisting, uncaring that she was exposing her back to Lexa.

Finn stumbled out of the forest. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, the fading remains of green and purple bruises giving his attractive face a ghoulish, distorted look in the dark.

Some of the pressure in Clarke’s chest released, a pressure value opened. Finn was alive. She hadn’t lost all her people.

“Clarke” Finn said her name like a prayer and Clarke felt her treacherous heart skip a beat. She had turned him away the last time they had spoken, still stinging from his lies and infidelity. But none of that had managed to completely extinguish her affection for the boy, the spark of a could have been romance lingered on her tongue, a remembered taste of him.

Finn’s joyous expression folded suddenly, a house of cards crumbling in the wind. He repeated Clarke’s name, but this time it was twisted with anxiety. His eyes took in Clarke with her hands up and the fierce grounder with her knife to Murphy’s throat and he thought he understood. Finn raised his gun and Clarke’s stomach dropped into her knees.

“Finn, no!” She screamed.

Things happened slowly after that.

Lexa, recognising the threat, threw Murphy to the ground and ripped the sword off her back. Clarke started running, aiming for a spot between Finn and Lexa, uncertain which of them she was trying to stop. But neither of them was faster than Finn. His finger caught the trigger, his hands shaking with fear and the whistle of a bullet flew past Clarke.

Lexa, fast as she was, couldn’t escape entirely.

Lexa lunged, sword arm coming up automatically to defend herself. The bullet ripped through her forearm, the force of the bullet stopping her charge and sending her stumbling backwards. Her raised sword tumbled to the ground, the sound of metal on rocks ringing around them. Lexa reached down to hold her arm, glancing down with wide, eyes. Blood seeped through her fingertips and she looked up, face drained of colour.

The syrup slow movement of time stopped, time roaring back to full speed for Clarke with a sickening lurch.

“No, no!” Clarke threw herself at Lexa, grabbing the girl around the waist as the girl’s knees folded.

Clarke looked at Finn, her vision burred from a sudden prickling of furious, shocked tears. “What have you done!”

“She had a weapon!” Finn cried back, his face was colourless, bone-white beneath dirt and green-tinged bruises. He looked like he was going to throw up. The hand holding his gun was shaking, leaving the weapon rattling against his side. “Clarke, she’s a grounder!”

“She was helping me!” Clarke snarled at him.

Lexa had managed to gain a grip on Clarke’s wrist, her left hand still strong despite the sweat gathering at her hairline. Lexa tugged, demanding her attention as Clarke’s fingers sought out her wound. Lexa’s clothing was dark and layered and Clarke couldn’t rip it open to see the injury. She couldn’t tell in the dark where the bullet had hit; if it had hit an artery or shattered a bone. Clarke pressed down hard in the general area, hoping it would slow the stem of blood. Lexa gasped, barring her teeth at Clarke in warning. “I know, I know. I’m going to help you, ok?”

Clarke looked up at Murphy and Finn. They were stood watching her. Murphy blank-faced and Finn horrified. Both useless.

“Go and get help! Tell them I need a medic!” Clarke shouted, thrusting her head in the direction of the Ark.

Murphy nodded and darted off, disappearing over the ridge of the hill.

“Clarke, I’m sorry,” Finn said; he took a step towards her, flinching at the look she sent him. He was dazed and empty looking, “I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Finn, shut up!” Clarke snapped, tugging off her “Go and get help!”

Finn’s response was swallowed by the roaring crescendo that echoed around them.

Clarke, her attention still on Lexa, caught only flashes of them from the corner of her vision. From the forest, camouflaged and armed, half a dozen grounders surged, weapons drawn and faces twisted into rage. The took over the hilltop, making quick work of the fumbling Finn, ripped his gun away and forced him to his knees with a vicious kick to the back of his legs. A boot pressed hard into the delicate bones of Finn’s hand, keeping him prostrate and whimpering into the dirt.

Nyko appeared in Clarke’s vision, his tattoos familiar beneath green and black paint. “You!” He snarled and grabbed at Clarke, ripping her away from Lexa.

“No!” Clarke cried, a rag doll against the strength of the grounder. Her hands were dark with Lexa’s blood, sticky as she was thrown forcefully across the ground. Her shoulder struck something hard and an electric current on pain raced down through her arm. Clarke gasped, vision blurring as she watched Nyko sink to his knees, reaching to hold Lexa as she listed to one side. Lexa’s arm hung limply over Nyko’s hands; blood had poured down her forearm and her hand was black, slick as if she’d dipped it in oil.

Clarke’s insides twisted, she wasn’t going to let things end like this, not after everything. She forced herself to her knees and tried to scurry closer, only to be stopped by a sword at her throat.

“You have done enough sky girl,” Nyko said, not bothering to look at her. He pressed down hard into Lexa’s arm, wincing at the gritted cry it inspired.

“Please. Let me help. My people are coming, we can help her.” Clarke pleaded. Nyko ignored her and the sword at Clarke’s throat pressed harder, threatening.

“You should not have trusted the sky girl,” Nyko said to Lexa; his face was pained. “I have failed you,” He glanced over at his men and muttered an order to them in Trigedasleng.

With Nyko’s arm curled around her waist, Lexa forced herself to her feet. A raw, hurt animal noise muffled behind her teeth as she struggled to find her footing. Lexa cursed, glaring at her arm as if the river of blood had offended her personally.

“You’ve lost too much blood. You won’t make the journey back to your village.” Clarke tried again. The sword at her throat nicked into her skin, blood trickling down to pool in the hollow between her collarbones. Lexa looked at Clarke; she was listing against Nyko, her weight mostly supported by him.

Clarke turning to the older man desperately, “She needs treatment now. If that bullet hit an artery, she’ll bleed out. Please, let me help her. My people are coming. We can save her. Please listen to me.”

Nyko hesitated; Lexa’s eyes were bright as she looked between them, somewhere between feverish and shrewd. She said something in Trigedasleng that made Nyko’s eyes widen.

“Heda, no.”

Clarke watched sickened as they exchanged a few softer sentences, each word draining a little more of Lexa’s energy and her likelihood of survival.

The sound of approaching boots reached of them finally. It was a group of people running up from the valley; they weren’t trying to be quiet, moving with the same stomping forcefulness that Lexa had claimed Clarke walked with. Murphy had found the medics.

“That’s my people. Please, let us take her. I will save her.”

“Leave me.” Lexa suddenly said. Nyko's face twisted and his grip on her tightened. For a second Clarke was sure he was going to ignore Lexa, but then with a face full regret he released his vice-like grip on Lexa’s waist. With more gentleness than Clarke thought possible, Nyko’s hand cupped the back of her Lexa’s head, smoothing the wild damp curls from her face. His hands were covered in Lexa’s blood leaving black stains curving across her forehead.

Lexa grinned, teeth black with blood. With a groan she pulled the daggers from their sheaths on her thighs, handing them to Nyko.

“The sword too,” Lexa said and one of the other warriors moved to pick up her abandoned sword

“You know what to do,” Lexa told Nyko finally.

“Ste yuj, Heda.”

The sword at Clarke’s throat disappeared abruptly and she scrambled forward, moving to take Nyko’s place. Lexa listed to one side and Clarke grabbed her before she could fall over, arranging the girl across her lap. Lexa watched her, white-faced and tight-lipped with pain as Clarke elevated her arm, compressing it between her palms.

Nyko met Clarke’s eyes over Lexa’s head. “Your people have five days. After that, you bring her to the camp.”

“What camp?”

“You won’t be able to miss it.” He stood up; the gentle reverence he had spoken with to Lexa gone, replaced by cold distrust.

“I won’t let her die,” Clarke promised. Her people were closer now, she could pick out them calling her name.

“You promised she would not be hurt.” Nyko retorted sharply, “Your word means nothing sky girl. You have five days, then she comes here, or you bring her body.”

He made a gesture and then the grounder warriors started to peel away. The one pinning Finn to the ground yanked the boy to his feet. He fisted Finn’s collar, dragging him backwards towards the forest. Finn cried out, his face white and terrified as he cried out Clarke’s name.

“Wait! Wait!” Clarke cried, unable to move as her hands held back the stem of blood pouring from Lexa’s arm. Frustrated tears prickling behind her eyes. “Where are you taking him?!”

Nyko’s eyes were hard. “He comes with us. To ensure you keep your promise. For his sake, I hope your people are as good as you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as Clarke is not having to fight Anya, the girls made much better time and crossed paths with Finn before he could make it to Nyko's village. Good for the grounders, bad for Lexa.
> 
> Speaking of Finn's gun - I ended up sparking a long conversation between a trauma surgeon, an orthopaedic surgeon and a register by asking in passing 'if I wanted to shoot someone but for them to make a quick recovery where would I shoot them.' They now think I am psychopath but were helpful in their general consensus that the forearm was probably a good bet. Sorry Lexa.


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke’s hands were slick with blood. It seeped between her fingers, drenching her jeans and leaving her skin hot and tacky. Her hands slipped through the black mess, struggling to compress Lexa’s wound.

“Did it hit an artery?” Lexa asked. Her face was damp, her hair sticking to her forehead in sweat-soaked curls. Her pupils wobbled, dilating, as she tried to focus on Clarke’s face.

Clarke didn’t respond. The truth was she didn’t know what the bullet had hit. The sun had long sunk over the horizon and Lexa’s clothing was dark, her blood was so black: it was impossible to tell how much blood the girl was losing. Clarke’s hands were slippery, her grip too weak to properly compress the wound. And all she could think about was what was going to happen if she failed; she would be responsible for two dead bodies.

“Clarke?”

“You’re going to be fine,” Clarke promised, her voice uneven.

From between the trees, the lights from electric torches appeared, wavering in unsteady beams. They were searching for her. Clarke lifted her head and shouted, telling them to hurry.

“Clarke, Clarke.” Lexa tugged at Clarke’s sleeve, “If I die, you have to give my body back to the flamekeeper.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“You have to promise me.” Lexa insisted, her words were started to slur, vowels drawn out and softened. Her grip on Clarke’s sleeve was as powerful as a kitten’s, a barely noticeable tug.

“You’re not going to die!” Clarke snapped, feeling frustrated tears start to prickle in her eyes.

“Promise me.”

“I promise, I promise, ok?”

“Here, they’re here!” Someone shouted and stark, artificial beam of lights burst across the clearing. Clarke cringed at their brightness, eyes stinging. She blinked rapidly, trying to shed the painful halos in her vision and focus on the train of people that had appeared around her, their noise filling the little clearing.

“Footprints, there were grounders here.”

“Help! I need help!” Clarke shouted, frustrated as the party fumbled their way towards her.

Someone dropped into the dirt next to her, steady hands reaching out with practiced ease to help her compress Lexa’s wound.

“Ok, what do we have?”

That voice.

Clarke looked up and the world went still.

Abby Griffin stared back at her; a kaleidoscope of emotion washing across her face. Her mother’s eyebrows curled up, her mouth opening in a shocked, impossible ‘o.’

“Mom?” Clarke breathed.

“Clarke?” Abby said.

_You were dead_. Clarke thought with a gut-wrenching twist of feeling; her vision tilting sideway.

“Clarke,” Abby repeated, her expression was like the sun breaking through the clouds. They stared at each other, a lifetime of love and heartbreak captured in the space between their breaths.

Lexa groaned and just like that, the moment passed. Abby’s face snapped closed, back to removed, firm professionalism. She pressed down on Lexa’s arm, reeling out orders to the people around her, barely sparing Clarke a glance.

Growing up Clarke had thought she took after her father. But her ability to focus on a problem and shut out everything else she was feeling, that was all her mother. It was that aspect of Clarke that pushed her to lead the 100, which had enabled her to make tough, horrifying decisions to ensure their safety. Clarke had started to hate that bit of herself, started to wonder if there was something bad, wrong inside that allowed her to be so cold. But now, as she watched her mother do exactly the same thing, all Clarke felt was desperate, sickening relief. Clarke dropped back onto her heels, numbness sweeping over her like a wave across the sand.

Lexa strained upright. The sudden appearance of new faces had given the girl a flood of adrenaline and the muscles in her neck bunched at every new voice. She looked between Clarke and Abby, eyes darting as Abby shushed her and stroked at her sweat-soaked curls.

“It’s fine sweetie, you’re fine.” Abby murmured.

A small tongue darted out to lick her lips and Lexa stared at Abby, her pupils shaking, dilating. “Nomen?[1].” She rasped.

It was, the worst thing Lexa could have done.

In the dark, her mother and the other medics had seen Clarke holding another young girl and assumed she was one of them. In one word, Lexa had ousted herself as their enemy and all hell broke loose. The previously helpful guards were suddenly poised and ready to fire, guns cocked and locked on Lexa’s body.

“A grounder!” one of them shouted, “she’s a grounder.”

“Stop, Stop!” Clarke cried, pushing her hands over her mother’s when she realised Abby was going to let up pressure on Lexa’s wound. “She’s not a threat. Put your gun downs!”

“We should search the woods, there could be more of them nearby.”

“We need restraints!”

“She’s been shot, you idiot!” Clarke snarled, “She doesn’t need restraints, she needs a doctor!” Clarke turned to her Mom, desperate, eyes pleading. “Mom, please.”

Abby glanced between them, calm in the chaos around them. “Clarke, what is going on?”

“She helped me, she brought me here. I wouldn’t have made it without her. Please, Mom, tell them to put their guns down.”

Abby hesitated; her eyes distrustful as she glanced at the girl bleeding out beneath her hands. A life literally in her hands but not the one she thought.

“She’s one of them.”

“Mom, they have Finn. We have to save her to get Finn back.” Clarke begged finally. “I need you to save her.”

That at least was enough to jumpstart her people into action.

“OK,” Abby said, her jaw tightening with purpose. She pressed down hard on Lexa’s wound, meeting Clarke’s eyes, “Ok, let’s do this. We need to get her to Camp.”

* * *

Clarke woke to the sound of birds and the smell of sweet, wet earth.

Her eyelids were heavy as she dragged herself back to consciousness, sleep lingering like cobwebs at the edges of her vision. For a moment she thought she was back in her tent by the dropship; any minute she would hear Bellamy growling orders or Jasper and Monty arguing like an old married couple.

“Hey.”

Clarke felt her breath catch, turning her head to see her mom uncurling from her position over the foot of her bed. Abby smiled at her, almost glowing. Still not quite sure she believed what she was seeing, Clarke found herself smiling back, caught up in a loop of relief and love. Her mother was alive. Clarke scanned Abby’s face, trying to burn the image of her mother’s face into her mind. They had only been parted for a month but Clarke had felt the memory of her growing slippery in her mind, harder to hold onto with each passing day. When the second dropship had crashed and burned, Clarke had thought she would never have this opportunity again. Her searching eyes found the pin on her mother’s jacket and she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“I thought you got kicked off the council.”

“It’s a chancellor pin,” Abby said with a self-deprecating smile. Then she frowned, grief and anxiety flitted like a shadow across her face. People had always said they looked similar; Clarke wondered if her own emotions were as easy to read. Abby rubbed the brass pin gently. “Thelonious didn’t make it and Kane left two days ago to try and make peace with the grounders so we could get you and the others back.”

“Grounders don’t have us. I told you last night.”

Compelled by Abby’s orders, the guards had grudgingly taken Lexa back down to camp The grounder finally passing as they lifted her on to the stretcher and remained that way as Abby had rushed her into surgery. Clarke had been right there beside her, hovering anxiously as she gave her mother a rushed update on what had happened to her and the others. After that things got a little fuzzy for Clarke, black spots of exhaustion and hunger had been dancing in her vision and she had found herself being forced to sit down, to lie down as she waited. She must have passed out.

Clarke pushed back the covers, ignoring her mother’s protests and swung her legs off the bed. She glanced around the medical tent, eyes lingering on the empty beds around her. “Where is she?”

“She’s fine Clarke.”

“Mom, where is she.”

“In the next tent along. Eric is watching over her. We couldn’t exactly keep her in here where anyone could just walk in.” Abby said, sounded exasperated.

“And she’s …. OK?”

Abby sighed, “She was lucky, the bullet went through her forearm and managed to avoid shattering any bones. Her arm will be out of commission for a while but she’ll make a full recovery. I’m more worried about you, you need to rest.”

Clarke batted away her mother’s reaching hands, hardening her heart to the hurt expression on her mother’s face. Seeing Abby had been like seeing daylight after being locked in the dark but as much as Clarke loved her mother, as much as she was so, so glad that Abby was here, alive and unharmed, Clarke now knew about her mother’s involvement in her father’s death. It was a bad taste in her mouth, a taint. Clarke pushed her feelings down, locking them away. She had things to do, her people were still in Mount Weather and she needed to free them. She didn’t have the luxury of trying to untangle years of lies and love and make sense of it. Not right now.

“I don’t need to rest. I need to find my friends.” Clarke told her mother, forcing herself upright, shaking out the painful stiffness in her legs. “We need to move against Mount eather.”

“Clarke.”

Clarke knew that tone of voice. It was a warning that Clarke was pushing too far; that her Mom was about to push back if she didn’t stop.

“Because of you, we know where the 47 are. But we know nothing about these people in Mount Weather, their numbers, their capabilities. We need to proceed carefully.”

“Mom, they’re our people.”

“I know.” Abby said, “But according to you they’re not being harmed.”

“It could change at any moment - “

“Or it might not.” Abby interrupted. “We have time to gather some needed intel on Mount Weather. We can’t risk going against an enemy we know nothing about.”

“So, we ask the grounders. They have been living in the shadow of Mount Weather for decades. We can work with them to get both our people back,” Clarke was losing her cool, feeling her emotions start to fray. Abby’s forehead was knotting, lips twitching in frustration and at least Clarke wasn’t the only in this conversation getting frustrated.

“Clarke, I know the grounder girl helped you but they took Finn, they attacked our camp. They are not our friends.”

“Mom-“

“I said no.” Abby snapped, her voice rising for the first time. “The decision has already been made, our priority has to be securing the camp and bringing back Kane. I’m sorry, Clarke.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed but anything else she was going to say was interrupted by Major Byrne. Shaky with anger, Clarke took the opportunity the Major’s distraction provided to stalk out of the tent and away from her mother.

Outside Clarke stopped, her skin prickling with unexpected heat from the sun. She exhaled forcefully, frustrated. Even with all the friction at the dropship between herself and Bellamy, she had never felt so dismissed, so disregarded. It was as if Clarke’s opinion meant nothing; as if she hadn’t kept everyone alive after the Ark had abandoned them; as if she hadn’t crawled her way out of Mount Weather. Clarke inhaled slowly, opening her eyes; it didn’t matter what her mother or the council thought, she was going to get her people back with or without their help.

“Hey, you.”

Caught up inside her head, Clarke startled at the familiar voice. She turned to find a ghost sitting next to the medical tent, waiting for her.

“Raven?”

Clarke folded Raven into her arms. The last time Clarke had seen the girl, Raven had been a breath away from death, bleeding out across the floor of the dropship. Clarke had spent her time in Mount Weather worrying about Bellamy and Finn and Octavia; she had purposefully not thought of Raven. There was no way to keep the girl alive, not with her wounds. Not even Mount Weather, with all their medical expertise, had bothered to try. Raven’s survival could only be due to her mother’s handiwork and Clarke felt some of her anger release at the realisation.

Raven squeezed Clarke back; her lingering embrace speaking more of her feelings than the girl would ever say aloud. They had often clashed in the dropship; Finn and their different temperaments causing friction. But the war with the grounders, the fear and the pain that they had lived through had forged a bond between them: part friend, part family. Clarke felt rush of fondness for the girl as she stepped back to take her in once more. Her smile faltered as she caught sight of Raven’s crutches and her leg.

“It sucks but I’m making do,” Raven said with forced casualness. Clarke nodded, knowing the girl’s pride wouldn’t take another comment.

The memory of Finn, of his capture by the grounders, uncoiled behind her eyes, and Clarke swallowed, her words weighing heavily on her tongue. Before Clarke could figure out how to broach the subject, the camp’s electric gates buzzed, the sizzle of electric and groaning metal filled the air. The interruption had both girls turning to look, squinting at the muddy figures plodding through the gates to the greeting shouts of the soldiers.

Covered in dirt and blood, supporting a half-dead woman, limped a dirt-covered Bellamy. Octavia stalked like a guard dog at his side.

“They made it. You all made it.” Clarke breathed and then her feet were moving her across the yard and into Bellamy’s arms.

Bellamy froze in her embrace, his body stiff, breathless.

“I thought you were dead.” Clarke choked out into his neck. A shudder ran through Bellamy’s body and then he was holding her back, fingers biting into her skin, just as desperate and shaken as she was. Neither of them had expected to see the other again.

Octavia’s embrace was softer, less urgent. Of them all them, the dark-haired girl looked the best, glowing despite the group’s exhaustion and injuries. Octavia had always been at ease in their new environment in a way that none of the other 100 had ever managed. The other kids had assumed that it was years isolated and kept hidden under the floor that made Octavia an outsider, estranged to Ark culture, but Clarke wasn’t so sure. The Octavia before her looked like a grounder changeling: a sword strapped to her back and a set of braids in her hair. But her clothes and face were all Ark made and she followed Bellamy like a sunflower tracking the sun. Octavia smiled, a glimmer of fire in her eyes as if she could hear Clarke’s thoughts.

“The others?” Bellamy asked, “Did they escape the grounders with you?”

“No, it wasn’t the grounders.” Clarke found herself dropping her voice, emotion pushed aside as her plans bubbled to the surface. Around her, Bellamy, Raven and Octavia straightened, willing troops to her cause.

Clarke glanced around; they were still stood in the middle of the yard, curious eyes watching them, listening to their conversation. She titled her head, gesturing to the medical tent and they followed her, settling themselves down on two makeshift beds, heads bowed together to keep their conversation private.

“Mount Weather took us after the final battle,” Clarke began, “There is a whole society of people living in the mountain. They can’t leave due to radiation poisoning, so everyone is locked in this warren of protective tunnels and bunkers. They have our people and they won’t let them leave.”

The group stared at her, slack-jawed as they tried to digest this new information.

“And they were hurting you?” Bellamy asked, eyes scanning Clarke’s face for injuries.

“No.” Clarke admitted, “They were nice to us. There was cake. I think they were trying to integrate us into their society.”

Raven raised an eyebrow and Clarke could see the girl mentally comparing Clarke’s dire proclamations of a welcoming society and cake to the nightmare she had lived through since the dropship battle.

“I know it doesn’t sound bad but things weren’t right. Mount Weather was kidnapping grounders. They were using their blood to survive, taking as much as they could until the grounders died. They had hundreds of them, locked in cages like animals.”

Bellamy’s hand rubbed at his face, leaving a long smear of dirt across his cheek. As always, his mind ran down the same lines as Clarke’s summarising morbidly, “So how long before cake turns into cages?”

“That’s what I’m worried about. They wouldn’t let us leave and they didn’t mention anything about the Ark coming down. They hid that from us for a reason.”

“Ok, Mount Weather: bad. So, let’s get our friends back, right?” Raven said finally, cocksure and brazen as if she wasn’t clutching her make-shift crutch to her chest, her fingers white-knuckled with pain.

“Yeah, what the plan boss?” Octavia asked with a smile.

Clarke met Bellamy’s gaze; unlike the girls, he was frowning, worry knotting him up. “Do our people know?” he asked.

Clarke nodded, “Yeah. I told them everything but they…. My mom said they have other priorities. They’re not going after them.”

“But they’re our people!” Raven said, dark brows knotted.

“I know and we will get them out. But even with our people’s support, it wouldn’t be enough.” Despite her frustration with her mother’s decision, Clarke wasn’t stupid enough to dismiss her reasoning, “We don’t know what we’re up against, not really. We don’t know what weapons they have, or even where the tunnels extend to.”

“Then what do we do?”

Clarke licked her lips, knowing exactly the reaction she was about to get. “I think we need to work together with the grounders.”

Raven and Bellamy recoiled. Raven releasing a stream of curses filed objections.

“I don’t know if you remember but they tried to kill us a week ago,” Bellamy growled.

“I know. I know,”

“You know? Then how can you even suggest this?” Raven demanded. “They’re animals Clarke, they would never help us.”

“Lincoln did.” Octavia’s voice was a knife through their intimate circle, striking down at their anger. Bellamy’s jaw locked and he looked away, his eyes landing as far from his sister’s face as possible. Even Raven was momentarily taken aback.

“Lincoln did help us. He saved Octavia's life,” Clarke agreed and pressed on, taking her advantage in their momentary embarrassment. “And there are more like them. I know, I escaped with one. Lexa. She got me out of the mountain and took me back here. She was… kind.”

“That’s just two grounders.” Bellamy said, unconvinced, “That isn’t going to make a difference.”

“Mount Weather have been kidnapping and killing grounders for years. They’re a children’s horror story to the grounders. It was…” Clarke shook her head, trying to remove the sudden image of the Harvest Chamber from her mind. There were no words to accurately describe what she had seen. When she looked back at her group, they were staring at her, waiting. “They hate Mount Weather; we can use that.”

Clarke could see her friends were unconvinced and couldn’t really blame them. The grounders were still their enemies, their response to the 100 had been decisive and violent. But Clarke had seen how organised Mount Weather was, how protected the bunker was. The Arkers needed an advantage if they were to get their people back. The grounders could be that. They had numbers the Ark didn’t and knowledge of Mount Weather and this land. And Abby was right, they wouldn’t fight a war on two fronts.

“We will not win against Mount Weather alone.” Clarke said, “The grounders have armies, they have knowledge we can use. If we can convince them to work with them, we have a chance to get both our people back.”

“For the record, I think this is a stupid plan,” Raven said in the lull of silence that followed. She glared at Clarke but there was no bite to her words.

Clarke smiled, “More stupid than using a drop-ship to create a ring of fire?”

Raven raised one shoulder, lips twitching, “That wasn’t stupid. That was genius.”

They smiled at each, falling back into easy comradery, comfortable in their bubble away from the main Ark. Then Raven frowned, a shadow moving across her face. “Wait, where is Finn?”

* * *

By the time Lorelai Tsing had been born her grandfather had been grey, bent backed and prematurely aged by a lifetime locked in the dark. Despite his body’s limitations, his mind had been as sharp as razor right until the end. It had been him who sparked her interest in medicine and science, and under his tutorage that she had performed her first surgery, her first transplant.

He had been the smartest man she had ever know.

It had been her grandfather who had discovered that the bunker’s protection was starting to degrade, connecting the increasing cases of cataracts and his own loss of taste and smell to prolonged radiation exposure. By the time he had managed to convince the president and the council, there had been widespread aplastic anaemia present in nearly half of the population; increased cases of chronic myelogenous leukaemia. A wave of slow, pained deaths had followed and for a while it had seemed that their extinction was inevitable. Then they had discovered the grounders.

Progress, her grandfather used to say, required experimentation.

It took at least 56 days for a human body to recover from blood donation. More like three months if you were being cautious. That was three months of food and clothing and air that a grounder would need before it could be used again, before a measly pint of blood could be taken. And that didn’t factor any infection or sickness they incurred along the way. In the meantime, the people of Mount Weather suffered, demand outweighing supply. So, Lorelai took too much and too often and threw away the used bodies of grounders they failed.

The grounders weren’t however an inexhaustible supply; they had grown fearful of Mount Weather and retreated further and further away, beyond where Mount Weather Soldiers could safely follow. The use of the reapers was a band-aid solution. But Lorelai knew eventually that the grounders might leave the area altogether or they might retaliate. Their way of life was unsustainable.

Lorelai looked into her wine glass contemplative, wondering what her grandfather would have said about her experiment today.

She had seen his medical journals, the blood-splattered diagrams of vivisections, and bone marrow experiments. She suspected he would have been proud of her resourcefulness, of her willingness to push forward towards a cure. Jasper’s blood had been even more effective than she had hoped. It was the first step towards something spectacular. If only the president could understand that.

The door to her quarters opened abruptly; Cage striding in without hesitation.

“No knock?” Lorelai sneered, still curled up her sofa.

Cage rolled his eyes, dropping down onto the chair opposite her. He looked tired, tell-tale signs of anxiety leaving his usual slick exterior frazzled. Lorelai supposed the talk with his father hadn’t gone well then but she didn’t ask him and he was too proud, too wary of her mockery to offer up the information.

Lorelai tensed as Cage reached out to her wine bottle, raising an eyebrow at the label. “Where did you get this?”

“It was my grandfather’s.” Lorelai said, “He would have been proud of the progress we made.”

Cage’s mouth turned, “Yeah, I remember the old man. What was it that he always used to say?”

“Progress required experimentation.” Lorelai recited. 

“He certainly liked the experimentation bit.” Cage muttered, returning the bottle to Lorelai’s coffee table.

“He was a genius.” Lorelai bit out, heckles raising as the disdain in Cage’s voice.

“He was a butcher; he tortured those grounders and called it science.”

“He was trying to find a cure for our people. It’s because of him that we have the treatments we do. That you have your Cerberus programme.”

Cage shrugged, “Is that what this is for you? A chance to fill your grandfather’s shoes.”

“I’m not the one who is living in the shadow of my father.” Lorelai retorted and they settled in a frosted silence. God, she hated this man. They shared a belief in using the Ark kids but little else. He was a Neanderthal, he didn’t understand her work, he didn’t value her mind. Once Lorelai had completed her work, she couldn’t see him having any use for her. But then she didn’t plan to let this arrangement go on for that long either.

“He didn’t agree to use the kids.” Cage said finally.

“Your job was to convince him.”

“He’s stubborn,” Cage said, running a hand through his hair with frustration, “but he’s not stupid. He saw Maya’s recovery. He just needs more time to understand what we’re doing.”

“We don’t have time for -“

Lorelai’s rant was interrupted by the pinging of her tablet. It beeped again and again, a string of excited emails.

“Bit late to be working, doctor.” Cage snipped and Lorelai ignored him, uncurling off the sofa to grab the small black tablet near the door. The home screen had half a dozen notifications from her lab assistant and she swiped the email open distractedly. A table filled with impossible numbers filled her screen.

“He will come around.” Cage was saying, “and in the meantime, we just need to keep all this quiet. I don’t want to spook him.”

“Cage.” Lorelai wasn’t sure what the man heard in her voice but he went silent immediately, moving to stand at her shoulders.

“What is it?”

Lorelai handed the pad to him, “It’s the tests back from the black blood.”

Cage looked at the pad with confusion. Even almost shaking in excitement at her unexpected discovery, Lorelai took a moment to revel in smug superiority at his ignorance.

“Lorelai, what am I looking at?” Cage asked finally, frustrated.

“These results… if these are right, we won’t need the kids at all. We won’t even need the grounders anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Mother
> 
> Is that? I think it is - it's the beginning of a plot! Sorry if this chapter was a little exposition heavy, but we now have all our main characters back together. 
> 
> So, I'm going to assume due to continual small amounts of radiation exposure, Mount Weather people have (among other things) aplastic anaemia - hence the blood transfusions and bone morrow transplants. Lets just ignore the rapid recovery from radiation burns with blood transfusion for now. This is 100 fanfication so medical realism can only last for so long.


	5. Chapter 5

“You let them take Finn.”

“I didn’t let them take him. I didn’t have a choice!”

Clarke’s confession about what had happened to Finn had not gone well. Bellamy’s face was closed off, any progress she had made in convincing him of her plan to work with the grounders fading away. Raven was incandescent. The dark-haired girl levered herself to her feet, looking like she as ready to claw Clarke’s eyes out at any moment.

Clarke had tried to remain calm, tried explaining what had happened but she could feel herself snapping back, furious that she was the object of Raven’s anger. The girl had the brightest mind Clarke had ever seen and yet she was so blind, so stupid when it came to Finn Collins.

“He went after you.” Raven bit out. 

“I didn’t ask him to do that.” Clarke snapped back.

“You didn’t have to” Raven’s eyes weren’t wet; she wasn’t the sort of person to cry in front of others but her words were about as close as she would allow herself to display weakness. This was Raven showing her vulnerable, bleeding underbelly.

Clarke breathed out slowly, rubbing her face to hide from the others the humiliated heat rising through her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” She said finally; her apology more for Finn’s feelings that his capture by the grounders. Raven wavered.

“We will get him back.” Clarke pressed. “Lexa is recovering, the deal is that we exchange them in 5 days.”

“We should take the grounder back and make the exchange now,” Bellamy added, unflinching when Clarke glared at him.

“And when infection sets in and she dies, how do you think the grounders will react then?” Clarke shook her head, “We are one mistake from a full-blown war with the grounders. The fact that they didn’t kill Finn outright is a good sign. It means they can be reasoned with. We honour the deal.”

Raven locked her jaw closed, eyes burning and a tense silence spun out between them, as brittle as toffee.

It was because of the pause in their conversation that Clarke heard it: a clash of metal hitting the floor and a scuffle of people struggling, a bitten back cry of pain.

The group glanced at her, following as she ran out of the medical tent. The noise was coming from the smaller tent to their right. A crudely made sign had been erected at its door, forbidding entrance to everyone save the chancellor and authorised personal. Clarke knocked the sign aside as she forced her way inside.

The small tent had been transformed into a medical space; much smaller than where Clarke had woken up in. A single bed, a single patient. The plastic hangings and surgical equipment at the back of the tent spoke of a recent surgery; a bin overflowing with medical waste, stained with familiar, oil-slick blood.

Clarke blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting the dim light, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.

Eric, her mother’s deputy medical officer, was hunched over on his floor. His face was pale and twisted with pain as he tried to crawl away from where his patient lay thrashing against her restraints. Behind him lay a trail of fallen bandages and medical equipment; discarded across the room from a small metal tray that had been upended in their struggle.

“Clarke, stay away.” Eric gasped out. There was scalpel in his leg, lodged deep in the fleshy muscle of his thigh. 

Behind him, still, half-tangled in restraints Lexa looked at them from her bed and barred her teeth. Her hair had long come free of her elaborate braids and fell around her face; wild curls coated in blood and sweat and filth. She was clad only in a thin, starch crisp medical gown but it did nothing to reduce her ferocity. She looked barely human, part-animal as she snarled at them, straining and twisting against her restraints.

“Really reasonable.” Raven breathed, taking in the scene wide-eyed. From her bed, Lexa spat a string of low, threatening words at them in Trigedasleng, her eyes flashing and Clarke felt Raven recoil.

The next few minutes played out in Clarke’s mind, a series of potentially disastrous outcomes. She breathed out, expelling her shock, and felt coldness settle into her veins. It was easy to fall back into calm leadership, as easy as falling asleep.

“Octavia, Raven, go and get my mother,” Clarke ordered.

Raven met her gaze, a threat of disobedience in the tight, pressed line of her mouth. And then Octavia grabbed Raven’s arm and the moment broke; both girls hurrying away as fast as Raven could manage. Bellamy had crouched down beside Eric, steadying and soothing the panicked man. Even now, Bellamy’s moments of gentleness managed to surprised Clarke.

“Lexa, Lexa it’s me,” Clarke said soothingly, taking a step towards the restrained girl.

“Clarke, don’t,” Bellamy said, automatically reaching out to stop her. Clarke stepped beyond his reach smoothly and carried on towards Lexa.

Lexa stopped thrashing and watched her approach with narrowed, wary eyes. There was a vague spark of recognition in her face but the grounder remained tense, her muscles strained against the restraints. Clarke stopped just out of reach, frowning. Lexa’s medical bed had been outfitted in restraints, thick leather cuffs that had been tied to her wrists and ankles down: the sort of thing used for violent or hallucinating patients. Not for someone with a bullet wound. They had been pulled too tight, stretched too taut; Clarke had no idea how the bound girl had managed to stab Eric at all.

“We’re not going to hurt you; Doctor Jackson was helping you.”

“He was trying to take my blood.” Lexa rasped out, throat raw and dry.

“He was just trying to help. He saved your life,” Clarke repeated slowly belying the urgency in her words. She took a step forward, counting it as a victory when Lexa didn’t try to lunge at her. “Please, trust me.”

“I am restrained and your doctor tried to take my blood. You are just like the Mountain Men.” Lexa’s voice was steady but her pupils were blown wide, sweat appearing at her headline.

Clarke felt slightly sick as she realised the truth in Lexa's words; how it must have seemed for Lexa to wake up once more in a strange environment, alone and restrained and in pain.

“OK, ok.” She stepped right up to the girl, fingers fumbling with the restraints on her wrists.

“Clarke!” Bellamy called, alarmed, “What are you doing?”

He abandoned Eric, and in two strides, was at her side, grabbing and holding her arms, forcing her to stop. Lexa looked at where Bellamy’s fingers dug into delicate bones of Clarke’s wrists and bared her teeth at him. Clarke made a sound of protest, tugging against Bellamy ineffectively. He pulled her, backing away so Lexa couldn’t reach them or hear them.

“She’s not our enemy,” Clarke told him irritated.

“She just stabbed a man.”

“She was scared, alone and confused. She won’t hurt us. Please, trust me.”

Bellamy scowled, dark eyes moving between Clarke and Lexa, emotions waring across his features. With a huff of frustration, he released Clarke, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Clark said and hurried back to Lexa. She fumbled to unlock Lexa’s right wrist; reaching across the girl to do the same to the second restraint. Lexa had gone pliant, boneless against the bed at Clarke’s actions and when Clarke righted herself, the girl was watching her closely. Without a snarl on her face, Lexa looked small in the medical bed; her eyes impossibly large in her pale face. She blinked slowly at Clarke; her expression unreadable.

“See, we’re just trying to help,” Clarke said finally.

Lexa levered herself upright, rubbing at her wrists. The restraints had left thick bands of red raw skin around her wrists; she must have been fighting against them for hours. Her right forearm was wrapped tightly in bandages, bulky with dressing and when she stopped rubbing at her wrist, it lay immobile and useless between her knees,

Without a word, Lexa, pushed the covers off her legs and began unravelling the restraints on her ankles. Clarke looked away, feeling her cheeks heat up; it felt wrong to look at Lexa’s long, bare legs, to see her pale, narrow feet. Clarke swallowed, wondering what she should say next, her usual certainty wavering.

Behind them, the tent door was pushed open. Abby stormed into the tent; Octavia, Raven and Major Byrne on her heels.

“What the – Clarke, get away from there!” Abby called, a thread of feeling making her voice climb. Behind her Major Byrne cocked her gun, aiming it at Lexa.

Clarke had turned around at her mother’s entrance and now she reached behind herself, grabbing Lexa’s bare leg and moving so her body blocked Byrne’s gun.

“Mom, no,” She said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding –“ Abby repeated, her eyebrows arching up as she took in Eric, still lying on the floor, a scalpal stuck deep into his thigh.

“She thought she was back in Mount Weather,” Clarke explained, ignoring the twitch of Lexa’s muscle beneath her fingers. The girl’s skin was hot, distracting as Clarke tried to keep herself composed, confident as she stared down the adults. “You had her restrained. Why?”

“She’s dangerous, Clarke,” Abby’s expression furious, her skin grey as she watched Clarke hold Lexa.

“She’d just been shot!”

“And yet look at what she managed to do to Eric. Imagine what could have happened if she’d been allowed to walk around”

“She’s not our enemy! You-“

“Your mother is right.” Lexa’s soft voice sucked the air out of the tent; stealing the attention of everyone in the room. She had levered herself upright, sitting crossed legged, as calm and placid as a statue. Her chin was tilted up, her back straight and shoulders back, completely unperturbed as if being the focus of a dozen angry strangers was normal to her. There was a strange intensity to Lexa that had everyone waiting, hanging on words.

“I did not know where I was when I woke up. I saw the restraints and your equipment and reacted as if you were a threat. Thank you for your care.” The last part was direct at Eric who gave her a wide-eyed pained chuckle at her, confused and disbelieving by the change in the girl. Lexa didn’t, Clarke noticed, apologise for the injury she had inflicted.

“Well- “Abby seemed as uncertain as Clarke; caught off guard by Lexa’s calm speech. From the look on Bellamy and Raven’s faces, the feeling was mutual. The grounders had always been speechless enemies; their furs and ancient weapons had made Clarke and her people assume they were primitive, somehow incapable of rationality, of humanity. The young girl on the bed, thanking them for their care was about as expected as seeing an animal talk.

Abby sighed, “Bellamy, Octavia can you take Eric to the medical tent next door. I’ll be right in.”

The Blake sibling moved to obey; manoeuvring the groaning doctor between them and guiding him out the door.

“Clarke, I need your help with Eric.”

“I should stay with Lexa.”

“Should I call someone else for help with Eric? You want them to know what happened.”

Clarke scowled realising she had been outmanoeuvred. She knew with enough time that she could change her people’s opinion on the grounders but it would be a set back if this incident got out. She nodded sharp and furious but remained standing before Lexa, her hands curled possessively around the girl’s bare leg.

Abby’s gaze moved back to Lexa, assessing her.

“You’re not putting the restraints back on her,” Clarke warned; Lexa’s muscles jumped beneath her hand and Clarke found herself squeezed Lexa's leg reassuringly. 

“Fine,” Abby said, her face hard. “Then Major Byrne stays here.”

“Mom- ”

“No, Clarke.” Abby snapped; the pale blue impression of a vein appearing in her forehead. “This is a precaution to keep our people safe.”

“It is fair,” Lexa said quietly before Clarke could object.

Clarke swallowed her objection and met Lexa’s eyes. The girl was, as always, blank-faced, her face completely unreadable. But beneath her stony exterior, Clarke wondered how scared, how alone she must be feeling.

“I’ll be back soon,” Clarke told her softly, finally removing her hands from Lexa’s bare leg. She felt strangely bereft at the loss of contact and folded her arms, tucking her fingers against her biceps. For a second Clarke thought Lexa was going to smile, the girl’s generous mouth twitching at the corners. Then Lexa nodded, dismissing Clarke as if she was queen dismissing her subjects and not an almost hostage.

Abby reached out for Clarke, wrapping her arm around Clarke’s shoulders. Her mother’s hands were shaking but Clarke couldn’t tell if it was in anger or fear. Still holding Clarke against her, Abby turned to the waiting Major Byrne, her eyes narrowed.

“If she tries to leave, shot her.”

* * *

By the time Clarke and her mother had finished treating Eric Jackson, the sun was low in the sky, leaving streaks of red and orange across the horizon, colour seeping into the ground.

Clarke used a rag to rub the blood from her hands, her eyes locked on the horizon. They had all liked to watch the sunset on the ark, but it had been colourless, a brilliant affair of light and encroaching darkness. On Earth, sunsets were bloody. It felt appropriate somehow.

Her mother emerged behind her, sending Clarke a warning glance before striding off to the council meeting. Clarke had used Eric’s treatment to wear her mother down. She had talked endlessly about the kids in <ount Weather, about Finn’s captivity and Kane’s disappearance, trying to convince Abby that it was in their best interest to treat Lexa as a friend rather than a threat. Most of Clarke’s motivation was her long-term aim of working with the grounders but a part of Clarke was ashamed of the way she had found Lexa, ashamed of the girl’s damning judgement that they were just like Mount Weather. The comparison had settled heavily on Clarke’s heart, a little too truthful for comfort.

Abby was too stubborn to be convinced by one conversation but Clarke could see her mother was less opposed to the idea than she had once been, her sharp mind toying with the idea. Clarke hoped she was just that persuasive but she suspected Lexa’s calm, self-possessed speech in the tent might have had more to do with it. Abby had finished stitching Eric’s leg with a sigh, saying she was going to call the council again and Clarke had been given permission to go back to Lexa with the provision that a guard was to be with them at all times.

Clarke didn’t protest, she hadn’t forgotten their first interactions with the grounders. Besides, the guard would keep Lexa safe from the rest of the Ark’s people.

She pulled back the smaller tent door; half expecting Major Byrne to aim her gun at the intrusion.

Instead, Byrne was stood in the middle of the room; her gun at her side, relaxed as Lexa talked to her.

“So, you are a Major and there are also Lieutenants, Sergeants and Guard chiefs.” Lexa was saying. The grounder was sat crossed-legged in the middle of her low makeshift bed; unlike before she was hunched over, elbows resting on bony knees and chin perching in her palms. Her hair was still a matted mess of dirt and blood but she had swept it off her face, leaving her looking more like a dirty urchin than a warrior.

“Chief Guard.” Byrne corrected absently; there was no warmth in her voice but her expression wasn’t tight and angry as it had been when Clarke had left the room.

Clarke coughed a little to make them aware of her presence and Byrne startled, turning to look at Clarke with a vaguely guilty expression.

“Don’t mind me,” Clarke said. “Just coming in to check if you are ok.”

Lexa tilted her head, bird-like, “I am fine. You have a confusing ranking system for your warriors. Major Byrne was trying to explain them to me,” She glanced up at Byrne, her face thoughtful. “You have a commander but they do not lead your people.”

Clarke blinking, remembering Nyko’s vague mention of the grounder’s Commander. The leader of the 12 grounder clans.

“Oh no, that would be the councilor,” Clarke explained awkwardly.

Lexa nodded thoughtfully, “And the councillor, that is your mother.”

“How did –“ Clarke asked in bewilderment. Lexa stared back at her with wide, guileless eyes. “Yes, she’s the councillor at the moment. Our leaders are elected by the people. They aren’t warriors.”

“So, your people chose your mother to lead them,” Lexa stated slowly and if Clarke didn’t know any better, she would have said Lexa was leading her in conversational circles, prodding at the contradictions that she already knew existed.

Clarke hesitated. She felt uncertain suddenly like she was about to step on unstable ground. Major Byrne when she glanced over, had a similarly wary expression her face, eyebrows knotting together in the middle of her forehead.

Lexa coughed, releasing a hiss of pain, and the nagging itch of concern plucking at the edges of Clarke’s thought evaporated, replaced by the would-be doctor that her mother had made her into by proximity. Lexa’s looked down at her arm thoughtfully, left hand pressed against the bandaged limb.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asked, “Let me take a look.”

“It is fine.”

“Let me look.”

Lexa shrugged and inched forward across the bed until she was edging into Clarke’s space. The movement made her hospital gown bunch up across the top of her thighs and Clarke found herself blushing furiously, startled by the sudden expanse of golden skin.

Lexa held out her forearm for Clarke’s inspection, impassive face twitching in amusement.

Clarke’s cheeks felt hot as she felt along Lexa’s bullet wound. The bullet had skimmed her rather than hitting bone or perforating any muscles. But the wound was deep enough to need stitches and would leave a fairly impressive scar. The bandages were stained with dark blood, but the blood was old, clotted and ink black.

“You’re fine,” Clarke mumbled and Lexa smirked, leaning backward. Her hospital gown remained around the tops of her thighs.

Clarke took a step back, feeling overheated. “You should probably rest though.” She glanced up at Major Byrne, “Will you watch over her.”

Byrne nodded.

“I’ll come back tomorrow.” Clarke added, “We can see about getting you on your feet, maybe cleaning you up.”

Lexa didn’t say anything as Clarke backed out the tent, but the corners of her lips were curling at the edges, a smile threatening her perfectly serene expression.

Clark stepped back into the sunlight and marched away; ducking behind a pile of supplies to cringe into her hands.

“You alright there, Princess?”

Clarke jumped, not noticing Bellamy creeping up on her. He leaned against the boxes lazily, one ankle resting across the other, watching her with one raised condescending eyebrow.

Clarke scowled, hoping the flush in her cheeks had died down. “Yeah, of course. What do you want?”

Bellamy smirked, a familiar, unhappy expression, “To ask if you’d seen that.”

He tilted his head upwards and Clarke followed his gaze.

Up, on the hilled forest that looked over their camp, hundreds of fires were blinking into existence; orange light spilling out through the trees and sending ruddy shadows against the sky. Their combined light was bright enough to illuminate the entire valley. It was a cluster of people, an army.

“The grounder army.” Clarke breathed, taken aback by how far the fires spanned. The army stretched across the entire hilltop. “They’re here.”

* * *

Indra kom Trikru had lived through the rule of six Commanders.

She had watched them rise to power, most of them fading into nothing after the bright promise of their ascension. The unluckiest had twisted themselves into something barely human, more brutal than even Indra’s people could stomach. It took a special kind of person to live through the violence, the death of the conclave and come out with mercy. Most of the commanders ended up as little more than figureheads, a symbol of the flamekeepers’ power, a force to be manipulated by greedy Thanes and warlords.

By all reckoning, Lexa should have been the same.

Lexa had won her conclave when she was 13 years; not the youngest commander ever but close enough. She had been a tiny slip of a girl, with swollen knees and bright green eyes that had dominated her entire skinny face. Indra had been there for the conclave; it wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed but Lexa had been Anya’s second, and Anya had been Indra’s second many years before.

“You underestimate her.” Anya had told Indra as they watched the girl clamber on to her throne. Lexa had been too short to touch the ground, her feet swinging in the open air, her skinny little body swallowed by the decorative red Commander’s cloak.

Indra kept her thoughts to herself on the matter. Anya was still young enough not to have become jaded by commanders. But Indra had lived long enough to know the truth. Commanders died; they died in needless battles, choking on their black blood. Or they died on their backs in their beds, betrayed their thanes, or killed by the clan leaders who wanted to ensure it was someone from their clan who held the flame. Even if Lexa had been chosen, even if she was as smart and as strong as Anya had claimed, she was still a small, naïve 13-year-old girl surrounded by wolfs. What chance did she possibly have?

Indra would regret her assumptions. She suspected she wasn’t the only one.

In that initial year after her ascension, Lexa had consolidated her power in Polis; ordering her entire court to the biggest Trikru city. It was a sensible move: Lexa was Triku, she was safer in her clan lands. But then came the reports of the commander planting fields, of her sharing cases of wine with the people of Polis, creating a fund for war orphans, setting up a scheme of apprenticeships for injured warriors.

Anya had been irate when she had heard reports of Lexa dancing in the streets during the harvest festivities, releasing a furious tirade to Indra on how it was unbecoming of a Commander to dance barefooted with urchins. Indra, however, had been less certain. In Polis, Lexa was beloved, the people cheered when she walked through the streets, offered blessings to her when they ate. With wine and dancing and farming, Lexa had captured the city’s heart. She had three thousand people ready to die for her. And in the background, unknown to the other clans, she was cleaning house.

The expulsion of the flamekeepers was in hindsight the first sign. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, many Hedas replaced the old flamekeepers when they came to power; retribution for perceived slights before they ascended. Lexa kept two, Titus and his strange Ice Nation apprentice Costia. Then Lexa turned her attention to her court; to the thanes who controlled huge swaths of Trikru land, exerting their power unevenly across the villages in their land. It was the Thanes who provided the commander with her armies, her money. They had been revelling like pigs in mud at the idea that the commander was someone from their clan; too arrogant to see the danger the young girl posed.

It happened slowly, almost unnoticeable at first. The worst of the thanes, the ones who took too much food from their people, who abused their villagers, who tried to leverage their power against the commander started to fall out of favour. Then they started to die. It was all accidental; they were killed in hunting accidents or stolen away by the mountain. They died drunk and syphilitic surrounded by drink and whores and there was never anything to connect it back to the big-eyed child who led them. Titus, Lexa’s flamekeeper declare it a sign from the Flame, a warning against opposing the commander, but people knew. In their place, Lexa appointed new men and women, warriors who were loyal to her, smart and innovative enough to challenge her but willing to give her more money and armies when she asked.

A year after her ascension, her power near absolute in Trikru territory, Lexa turned her sights outwards, beyond the limitations of her clan territory and Indra was summoned back to Polis.

Indra went as commanded, heart heavy. She had lived through one commander who thought it was their right to subjugate all others. She did not want to live through a second.

At fourteen years old Lexa had grown, more woman than the child she had been during her ascension. She had stood at the window of her tower as Indra knelt before her, her gaze a strange piercing thing, her eyes too old for her face. People whispered about her stare, saying it was because of the flame, the spirits of the dead commanders watching through Lexa’s eyes. Indra wasn’t so sure about that but the rumours about how unsettling Lexa’s gaze was proved true enough.

“You are worried, Indra,” Lexa said, informal as if she was still the teary-eyed five-year Anya had plucked out of the forest to train. “You think I will become like Sheidheda.”

Indra had startled, wondering for a second if part of the flame’s power was to read minds. She remained mute, not trusting herself to speak.

Lexa sat down on her throne, her small body somehow filling the space. She tapped her fingers against the armrest, carefully choosing her words.

“How many battles happen between clans; how many raids and pillages?”

Indra frowned, raids on other clan lands were commonplace; a necessity for villages struggling to pay tithe to thanes and to take revenge on villages who had attacked them previously. Trikru was surrounding by other clans on all sides; they took heavy losses from the raids but then so did all the clans.

Battles between clans were different but held a similar outcome. Alliances between clans were made and broken on a word, lasting only as long as the Thanes and clan leaders wished. There was a constant reshuffling of alliance and enemies between clans, to ally with one clan was to find yourself with a new enemy. It resulted in an endless stream of battles. The only thing that all the clans had ever agreed on was the commander; they all knew the power of the flame. The conclave was the only bloodless gathering the clans attended together; well for everyone except the night bloods.

“Half our people starve, from cold, from lack of food because we’re too busy fighting other clans. We take revenge for our dead but don’t care about the living,” Lexa continued “The clans should be could be working together, not fighting.”

“And you would enforce this by invading other clan lands?” Indra guessed, cutting straight through Lexa’s pretty speech.

“No, I would create a coalition.” Lexa rolled the word on her tongue carefully, looking for the first time like the child she still was. “An alliance of 12 clans, working in peace, building a better world for everyone.”

“The clans would never agree to it.”

“I could make them agree to it.” There was steel in Lexa’s voice then; the danger that Indra had feared when she received her summons.

“Who has put these ideas in your head,” Indra asked instead. She glanced over at Lexa’s flamekeeper, an angular older man who was twisting his hands in the corner of the room. “Your flamekeeper?”

“It wasn’t I.” Titus retorted. He sounded exasperated, exhausted. “She thinks up these things all by herself.”

Lexa grinned at her flamekeeper, a flicker of fondness in her face. Titus, Indra remembered had been training the girl since she had been sent to the flamekeepers as a small child. How Anya how sulked after Lexa had been taken from her; the usual fiercely unfeeling woman dragging her feet, practically pouting when anyone came near her.

Lexa turned back to Indra, her unfeeling commander’s mask settling back over her features.

“I dreamt it. The flame has told me it is possible, that I can do this. I can bring peace to our people.”

She stepped off her throne, moving towards Indra until they were stood a hair apart.

Lexa for all her growth was still smaller than Indra and the girl had to look up to meet her eyes. It did nothing to detract from the strength of Lexa’s presence; she seemed to steal all the air from the room, a magnet, a nucleus of power. Lexa’s eyes were brilliant, impossibly green, sparkling with intensity, with promise. “We deserve to do more than to just fight and die.”

Indra was already half sold by the girl’s vision, by her conviction. Others would be too she realised. She shook her head in disbelief “This has the to be the craziest idea I have ever heard.”

Lexa smiled, a flicker of childish mischief behind her ancient stare. It was as if she had known that Indra would repeat those words many times over the coming years.

Indra sighed, letting the memory of her 14-year-old commander slip away. She watched the flames appeared across the hillside, a warning to the invading Skaikru. This she decided was the craziest idea Lexa had ever had.

At her side, Nyko let lose a worried rumble, big hands flexing around his sword. Nyko had been the one to pass on Lexa’s messages to Indra and to bring the news that Lexa had been taken by the Skaikru.

“Do not worry yourself, Nyko,” Indra told him.

“It is my fault Heda was taken.”

Indra didn’t correct him. Nyko should have protected their commander better. If Lexa did not return, the narrowed looks he had been receiving since the army had formed would devolve into something more physical.

“She wanted to see inside the Skaikru camp,” Indra said instead.

That at least was true; Lexa had barely paid attention to Anya’s messages about the invading force, her energy concentrated on Queen Nia and managing her grumbling ambassadors. But then she had learnt that the invaders had fallen from the sky, and that they burnt alive all of Anya’s warriors.

Lexa had ridden to the invaders as if her heels were on fire, outpacing her slow plodding army easily. Everyone had assumed Lexa was going to avenge her fallen mentor: it was the Trikru way. But Indra remembered how Lexa had reacted after Costia had been murdered, how she had used the girls’ murder to enforce her coalition rather than demanding the blood she was due. Lexa saw things other people could not, she planned out entire games of strategy while most people could only react, blinded by emotion. At one-point, Indra had thought that it was a power attributed to the Flame but she knew now it was just the way Lexa’s mind worked.

She didn’t think Lexa had meant to be taken by the mountain people. Although she wouldn’t put it past the commander.

Queen Nia’s spies had the information relayed back to her before Lexa’s army had even made it to the rendezvous point. The bitter queen had been stirring up the other clans ever since, saying Lexa was dead and that another conclave was needed. Indra had made the mistake of asking Nia’s ambassador how exactly the queen knew Lexa had been taken by the mountain and had nearly started a war between Trikru and Azgeda, coalition be damned.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Lexa had reappeared in Indra’s village: a sky girl trailing after her, a tale of the mountain and a plan that had Indra shaking her head at the madness of it. The fires that stretched out around them was the fruition of the first part of Lexa’s plan. The Trikru army was smaller than most, diminished by years of clan warfare and reaper raids. Most of the campfires that were dotted across the hillside sat unmanned, an illusion of people, a puppet army. None of the other clans would have been fooled but this new enemy was ignorant and from a distance it would like the hills were crawled, bursting with Trikru soldiers.

“Indra,” one of her warriors appeared before her, fist slapping his chest plate in greeting. Indra nodded at him in acknowledgment. “We have found the exile. He is in the far tent, away from the army.”

Indra thanked her warrior and made her to where the second part of Lexa’s plan sat waiting. This was definitely, the craziest idea her commander had ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think it's Canon that Costia is Trikru but I found the idea of her being Ice Nation more interesting. So that's what we're going with.
> 
> My initial creative flurry for this fanfiction has sadly died a death. Come talk to me and keep me inspired


	6. chapter 6

Raven had fallen asleep at her work station once again, her face pressed into a rough assortment of bolts and copper wires which left strange patterns imprinted in her skin. Abby had commanded her days ago to sort out the signal on their radios but the solution continued to elude her. Raven wasn’t used to being unable to solve problems; her mind had always allowed her to fix things, to find solutions to problems other people couldn’t even comprehend.

And yet lately it felt like all she was doing was failing to fix things.

The radio, her legs, Finn. If this was what it was like to feel ordinary, then being ordinary sucked more she had ever imagined.

Raven groaned, biting back a cry of pain as she forced her leg straight. Her sleeping position had done her injury no favours and she gripped the table, swallowing back a wave of nausea as the pain swept through her. The pain in her legs never stopped, not anymore. For the first time, she thought she understood the allure of drink: she would do nearly anything for 5 minutes without pain.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The harsh, commanding voice was enough to snap Raven out of her pain-filled haze and she glanced up to see puppet-like shadows moving behind the misted window of her workspace.

There were two of them: tall, proud Ark soldiers. Raven knew the type: cock-sure, barely grown men, teetering between fear and self-importance, drunk on their own power. She felt herself tensing at the sound of their voices, remembering her own run-ins with the Ark guard. Apparently, this brave new world wasn’t as different as they had promised.

A third shadow appeared in front of the glass. Small and female, standing unmoving as the guards approached.

“I said, where are you going, grounder bitch.”

“Shit.” Raven hissed in understanding, scrambling for her crutches.

The two male shadows converged on the third shadow and there was a muffled cacophony of noise; insults and a groan of pain: the sound of fists on flesh.

Raven limped as fast as she could to the door, throwing it open with a shout.

The guards stopped, distracted by her entrance. They had cornered Clarke’s pet grounder; hiding her behind their bulk as they pushed her between them.

“Move on, Raven.” One of the guards commanded; his hand was curled around the grounder’s shoulder, big enough the cover the entire skinny width of her.

“Yeah, I can’t do that.” Raven sneered and limped towards them. She stopped an arm’s length before them and, before they could react, swung her crutch hard into the closest guard’s shin.

The man folded, crying out as his legs gave out beneath him. It had the desired effect and he released the grounder, hands automatically coming to break his fall. Raven wobbled, steadying herself and jerked her head at the grounder, telling her to come.

The girl obeyed mutely, darting from between the men and disappearing behind Raven’s back, her bare feet silent.

“Fuck you.” The second soldier snapped, hand coming to curl around his baton threatening

“No, fuck you!” Raven snarled back, she surged up into the man’s face. The soldier didn’t expect that and he pulled away, surprised by her anger. Raven raised her crutch threateningly, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there is an entire grounder army watching us. You’re going to get us all killed because you couldn’t keep yourself from pushing around a defenseless girl.”

“She’s not defenseless. We’ve seen Murphy.”

“Well how about I call Abby and we’ll see what the Chancellor has to say about it. I’m sure she’ll be understanding?”

The two soldiers exchanged dark looks before turning and slopping off down the hall, muttered threats and glares thrown back at her. Raven watched them go, not turning around until they disappeared around the corner. As soon as they were gone, she spun around to face the grounder. Lexa was stood still, her green eyes flat and unblinking despite the trail of dark blood leaking from her split lip.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Raven demanded, “Shouldn’t Clarke be babysitting you?”

Lexa rubbed the back of her hand across her bleeding mouth, leaving a dark slash of colour across lips She met Raven’s eyes, unbothered by her raised voice.

“I wanted to wash but got lost.”

The grounder, Raven realised, was dressed only in a thin, wrinkled hospital gown, her legs and feet bare and covered in goosebumps. Her hair was wet, hanging in dripping curls down her back, water pooling at her feet. Her right arm was wrapped in thick medical bandages, folded across her body in a sling. Raven wanted to hate her, to blame her for Finn’s absence but she looked more like a half-drowned cat than the ferocious grounders that had attacked their camp and Raven felt her anger seep away, settling into resentful embers curdling in her stomach.

Raven sighed and gestured towards the workshop in defeat, “Fine. Come with me until Clarke finds you.” She opened the workshop door, scowling at Lexa, “Just don’t touch anything with your weird grounder hands.”

Raven limped into the room, her neck prickling as she felt Lexa’ eyes on her. She was suddenly aware that she had her back to the grounder, the grounder who she had just insulted and who was prowling after her with the muscle-bound grace of a big cat. Raven swallowed, forcing herself not to panic and glanced over her shoulder, half expecting Lexa to take a running lunge at her.

Instead, the girl was nowhere in sight.

“Lexa-“

A dark head bobbed into view. Lexa had crouched down before one of Raven’s workbenches, her wide eyes were level with the flickering screen of tablet monitor. She poked at it warily with her free hand, flinching way as if she expected it strike back.

“Stop. It’s not working. I have to fix it,” Raven said. Lexa looked up, still crouched down on the floor.

“You can fix this thing?” Lexa asked, sounding intrigued.

“Well, me and Wick. Electronics is more his thing than mine.”

Lexa reached out again and Raven made a noise of irritation, making the grounder freeze, arm raised and finger stretched out, hovering an inch away from the screen.

“Stop touching things,” Raven jerked her head, “Just come over here.”

Lexa obeyed easily, sliding gingerly into the high metal stool at Raven’s workstation. By the time Raven had managed to lever herself on the spare stool opposite her, Lexa had figured out the stool could turn and was spinning herself in lazy circles, eyes trailed over every workspace and note covered wall. Raven supposed this room was impressed if all you have known was swords and campfires.

“Didn’t you get shot yesterday?” Raven asked her, unable to contain her envy as Lexa spun herself around with a flick of her bare foot.

“Yes.”

“Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”

Lexa let her stool slow down, managing somehow to stop so she was directly facing Raven. Her expression of childlike awe faded away, replaced by something heavier, harder for Raven to understand. 

“For my people, not being able to move is to die,” Lexa stated finally and Raven flinched.

“I did not mean to offend.” Lexa’s eyes showed no pity despite her gentle words. Raven was glad, she was sick of people’s pity, “Your mechanical leg support is impressive. I wish we had something similar for our injured people.”

Raven’s fingers lingered unconsciously on the brace, her mouth twisting. “Well, maybe you should stop engaging in wars, and then your people wouldn’t get so injured.”

Lexa didn’t rise to the bait, looking instead serene, an eyebrow quirking in amusement. “It has crossed my mind.”

“Great. I’m glad I could be of service.” Raven said shortly dragging one of the mangled radios that she was gutting for parts closer. Lexa remained silent; her hands folded neatly into her lap. But her presence was suffocating, her eyes searing into Raven’s skin as she watched her.

Raven dropped her wrench loud enough to clang against the broken radio and glared at the girl. “What?”

“You are angry about your friend,” Lexa said finally and Raven found herself barring her teeth, the spark in her gut kindling right back to a bonfire.

“Yes, I am angry about Finn. Your people took him, because of you.”

“He shot me,” Lexa said dryly, a hint of steel behind her words.

Raven dropped her head into hands; feeling the tell-tale prickle of frustrated tears behind her eyes.

The pain in leg was sweeping over her, drowning her. It left her mind struggling to make sense of everything, she was slow and fumbling like a child in the dark. Fuck Finn, and fuck her leg. Fuck Abby Fucking Griffin and her stupid, useless radio. Fuck her stupid, perfect daughter who Finn loved more than Raven. And fuck Lexa for putting her in a position where she had to defend a grounder against her own people.

“He was just trying to help Clarke.” Raven forced out finally.

Lexa was silent, and when Raven glanced up the other girl was picking at the butchered carcass of the radio, clever fingers plucking wires like a musical instrument, interest in their conversation apparently already faded. Raven slapped her hands, and Lexa’s eyes flashed, a flare of green fire.

“I said stop touching,” Raven warned. For a moment Raven thought the girl was going to retaliate and felt herself tense in nervous anticipation. Lexa’s chin was tilted up, her back straight and her eyes watching Raven through the heavy sweep of her eyelashes, a predator waiting for their prey. Then Lexa blinked and the moment passed.

“I do not understand the appeal of this boy.” Lexa said finally, “but no harm will come to him.”

“Yeah, sorry if I don’t believe that. I saw what Anya’s warriors did to Murphy.”

“Anya has always had a hands-on approach,” Lexa said. Raven thought there a hint of mocking in the grounder’s voice but when she looked at Lexa’s face, her expression neutral, guileless. “But my people will not touch him.”

Raven frowned; she had learnt the hard way not to believe in empty promises. But it was hard, hope was a bird hatching in her chest. “And your people will release him?”

Lexa nodded, “Yes. There will be an exchange as promised.” Her eyes narrowed, looking down at the radio slyly, “hopefully my people will entertain him with things as interesting as this.”

Raven snorted, rolling her eyes. “Subtle.”

Lexa raised one shoulder delicately, unashamed, and poked at the circuit board cajoling.

“Fine, fine,” Raven said and nudged the mangled radio between them. “I might as well put you to use if you’re going to stay here yapping at me.”

* * *

The grounder army that had appeared on the hills surrounding the Ark had not gone unnoticed.

A wave of anxiety had thrummed through the camp, unspoken but leaving the air thick with tension. The guards were agitated, fingers hovering constantly on the triggers of their guns. Jobs were fumbled and forgotten as people huddled together nervously, too frightened and confused to be useful. It didn’t help that word had gotten around about the injured grounder Clarke had brought back to camp. It seemed like everyone knew that story, their eyes followed Clarke, whispering darkly that she had given up Finn for a grounder.

Clarke had bitten the inside of her cheek raw by the time she found herself summoned before the council, the muscles in her back knotted with tension. It was almost a relief to shut the door on the rest of the world, to not feel daggers being wished into her back. Or it would have been if the council had been any more logical than the scared masses outside.

“I told you,” Clarke said through gritted teeth, “They’re not going to attack. Lexa said -”

“How can we be sure? Because of a promise made by one grounder girl?” The council member who interrupted Clarke was unknown to her. One of the new appointments made when they had landed. He was a thin man with hollow cheeks and a permanent scowl and had spent the past hour growing more and agitated, sending looks at Clarke as she was a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Clarke suspected it was sentient some of the other council members shared; it seemed she had been reduced to the annoying, interfering daughter of Abby Griffin once more.

“They have an army set up on our doorstep. That seems like a declaration of war to me.”

“I know that but-“

“We need to strike first.” Said the scowling councillor.

Clarke gaped, turning to stare at her mother beseechingly. Abby looked just as exasperated as Clarke.

“Councillor, we don’t know their numbers or their weapons capabilities.” Abby pointed out.

“They have the high ground.” Major Byrne added from the corner of the room, “It puts us at a disadvantage.”

“They’re not going to attack us!” Clarke repeated, voice rising in frustration. “We should be trying to make peace with them. They can help us stop Mount Weather, who - if you didn’t remember - have our people.”

“Stop. Stop.” Abby held up her hand, cutting off a sudden clamour of protests. Abby sighed, looking down at the virtual map stretched out before her, staring at it as if would provide her with the answer of what to do next.

“Mam, if I may a suggestion?” It was a previously silent councillor, a dark woman with paper-thin skin stretched taut over her bones. “We have a grounder here, in our Camp. We should find out what she knows, gather intel on our enemy.”

“Yeah, make the grounder talk!”

“Mom!”

“Clarke, you are not a member of the council, you will be quiet.” Abby’s eyes flashed in frustration and Clarke recoiled; mouth snapping shut. Abby straightened up, face firm with decisiveness, her hands clasped behind her back.

“So far they have made no move to attack us. If Clarke is correct, they aren’t planning to either. I will not risk a war by firing the first bullet. But we need information. Byrne, send out scouts. I want to know what their numbers are, what weapons they have. In the meantime, move our people away from the fence, we need to be ready to shelter in the ark if things change. No one is to leave Camp.”

There a shuffling of murmured agreements from the surrounding councillors; dropping to silence as Abby held up her hand to indicate she had more to say.

“We will not be interrogating the grounder, not like the last one. Finn’s safety is dependent on hers.” Abby glanced at Clarke, the guilty flicker of her eyes making Clarke tense expectantly. “But we will talk to her.”

“Mom.”

“Clarke, we need to know what we are up against. We know nothing about these people, or what that want. She can help us.” Abby looked over at Byrne, “We’ll reconvene this evening, before dinner.”

The council nodded, accepting the dismissal and leaving until only Clarke and her mother remained. Clarke stood cross-armed; her face tight with anger.

“What?” Abby demanded.

“What about Mount Weather.”

“God’s sake Clarke. Don’t you think we have enough problems?” Abby asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the army. “We have an army camped outside our gates. Kane is still missing. We don’t know if any of the other sections of the ark made it to earth and Raven still hadn’t figure out how to fix our radio signal. We do not have enough manpower to fight a war on two fronts.”

Abby deflated. She had rested her arms against the table and her head dropped, hanging between her shoulders wearily. “I am doing the best I can. We just need to get past this and then we can help your friends.”

In the past, Clarke would have relented, pushing aside her own feelings in the face of her mother’s stressed exhaustion. It was different now, she had other people to think of, to think about, to prioritise because no one else would. But Clarke couldn’t help the stab of pity she felt. Her mother had flirted with power for Clarke’s entire life, Abby was a seasoned manipulator but the crown of chancellor lay heavy and uneasy on her head.

“Look, let me explain things to Lexa. I’ll bring her here.” Clarke said softly.

Abby nodded, a shadow of a smile on her face. “Thank you.”

* * *

Raven’s workshop was up a level and on the opposite side of the Ark.

How Lexa had ended up here Clarke didn’t know; the girl shouldn’t have even been on her feet, let along wandering around the Ark unaccompanied. She almost hadn’t believed it when she had heard the two grumbling guards muttering about Raven stealing off with the grounder. Raven had been so angry when she found out what had happened to Finn, completely unwilling or unable to imagine an alliance with the grounders. She would blame Lexa for Finn’s capture. And for all of Lexa’s stoicism, Clarke had seen how quickly the girl had responded to Murphy and his gun. The two girls together were a bomb waiting to happen.

Clarke pushed through into Raven’s workshop, slowing to a surprised standstill at the sight before her.

Lexa and Raven were sat next to each on the far side of the workshop, dark heads bent close, murmuring back and forth easily. A split open radio was laid out between them, wires and circuit boards spilling out of its plastic casing like innards. Raven was pointing, seemingly randomly at lights and breakers, and Lexa would name the parts, a wrinkle of concentration between her eyebrows. Raven lips twitched at every answer.

“Erm, hello?” Clarke said.

Raven startled, nearly slipping off her stool; a scowl firmly settled onto her face when she met Clarke’s astonished stare. Lexa spun around slower unsurprised by Clarke’s presence.

“Well, finally!” Raven said, jutted out her chin. “You know I have enough to do, Clarke. I didn’t agree to babysit your pet grounder.”

“Raven has been teaching me about radios.” Lexa said easily, serene as Raven scowled at her.

At Clarke’s raised eyebrow, Raven puffed out her chest defensively.

“What? She’s a quick study. Better than any of you idiots.” Raven limped around her work table, ears red as she turned her back to them, “if I’m going to be left to babysit, she might as well be useful.”

Deciding this was a battle she didn’t want to engage with Clarke decided to take the strange scene before her as a victory and thanked the mechanic. Raven raised one shoulder in grudging acceptance, “Some of the guards had found her.” She explained.

Clarke frowned and looked over at Lexa. The girl had turned back to the radio, long fingers still tracing the radio circuit board with curious reverence. She was, Clarke realised, wearing a worn jacket over her hospital gown, one arm limp at her side while her injured arm remained in a sling across her body. The neon lights of the room illuminated Lexa’s pale face, emphasising the high arches of her cheekbones, the dark, scabbing wound on her lip. 

“She’s fine. I got there before they did anything.” Raven said quietly, watching Clarke. Clarke forced herself to relax the tight muscles in her forehead and jawline.

“Thank you Raven,” Clarke repeated softly. She forced herself to smile at Lexa, “Come on, we should leave Raven to her work.”

“Ok,” Lexa swung around on the stool, hopping off as gracefully as a dancer. Even with bare feet and clad only in a hospital gown and a borrowed coat, her physicality was impossible to ignore. She moved like a cat, all sinewy muscle and power. “Thank you, Raven.”

Raven shrugged, trying to look uninterested. “Yeah, whatever. I suppose she can come back here if you need someone to look at after her.”

Clarke couldn’t keep the smirk off her face as she led Lexa out the workshop.

“The council has asked to see you,” Clarke told the grounder as they stepped back out into the Ark corridor.

Lexa hummed, distracted by the large electric notice board on the opposite wall. Stream of text ran across the screen, notifications in half a dozen different languages listed the rules of the Exodus charter, announcing the priority jobs of the day, there was even a planned menu for dinner.

“Lexa.”

“It’s fine, Clarke,” Lexa said, tearing her gaze away from the board and resting a hand briefly on Clarke’s forearm. “I expected this.”

Clarke felt her insides twist. Clarke’s mother might have promised that the girl wouldn’t be hurt but Clarke knew the sentiment wasn’t shared by the entire council, nor the rest of the population. Lexa had kept her promise to Clarke, her people had fed her and stopped an encroaching army from attacking. And Clarke’s people had shot Lexa, their doctors had restrained her, even their guards had thought it was acceptable to push her around. It was starting to feel like it was Clarke’s people who were the savage ones.

“They just want to talk,” Clarke said weakly.

“Then I will talk,” Lexa responded calmly. She glanced down at herself, flexing her bare toes. “I would prefer to talk to your leaders with shoes on, however.”

Clarke felt a snort of laughter escape her. It was so stupid, such a mundane concern in the tangle of Clarke’s other anxieties and she found herself unable to stop laughing, slightly hysterical as she imagined Lexa wiggling her bare toes at the scowling councillors. Lexa raised an eyebrow and Clarke held up a hand in apology, feeling lighter as her breathed stuttered back to normal.

“Sorry, sorry. Come on, I know where we can get some clothes for you.”

It took them a long time to get to Clarke’s destination. Everything captured Lexa’s interest. She spent 10 minutes passing back and forth through an automated door, peering at the uneven wall as she tried to figure out how it worked and delayed them again to when they came across a drinks machine, looking completely baffled when Clarke explained what it was for. Clarke indulged her, letting Lexa stop and peer at every flashing electric panel and sign. There was something entirely endearing about the girl’s ignorance, her wide-eyed curiosity.

“It is all very grey,” Lexa said finally, “And narrow.” 

Clarke snorted, looking around at the long narrow colourless corridors. It was an accurate assessment. 

The Ark’s mid-levels were mostly non-functional, flickering lights struggling to shine through the dust of collapsed walls. Most people had lost their quarters when the ark had broken apart and even those that hadn’t had been tempted outside. The cold, the dirt and even the threat of the grounders was not enough to stop people who had dreamed of Earth their entire lives from seeking out the sun. Other than a few curious looking mechanics, there was no one around as they made their way to the senior council members chambers. Clarke stopped outside her family’s rooms, her fingers shaking as she tapped in the keycode. Clarke froze in the doorway, unable to make her feet move.

“Are you ok?” Lexa asked quietly. Clarke swallowed, the last time she had been inside these rooms, her father had just been floated and she was been dragged off to prison.

“Yeah… it’s just, I didn’t think I would ever see this place again.” Clarke said finally and forced herself inside.

The room was dark, one solitary flickering light struggling to fight back the shadows. Clarke was glad, she couldn’t quite bear to see the Griffin home without her father. She hurried Lexa along, turning into the small second bedroom that she had once called hers.

It was the same as the day she had left it; a patched blue dress still hanging over the side of her chair. An assortment of stubby pencils scattered across her desk. Clarke’s heart ached. She had always known she was lucky; her parents’ positions on the Ark and their close friendship with Jaha had seen that their lives were as comfortable as possible on the Ark. Back then Clarke had had no idea had hard life had been for some people. Whole families squeezed into a single room: they could never have imagined having pencils to draw with, just for fun.

Lexa had wandered away from Clarke and was stalking around the room, trailing her fingers across the dust-covered desk, the pink bedspread: running her fingers along the embroidered pillowcase gently. There was something disquieting in seeing Lexa in her childhood space; like seeing a tiger contained inside a jail cell. A jarring merging of two worlds.

“This is your bedroom?”

“Was.” Clarke responded, “A long time ago.”

Lexa’s stare seemed to look straight through her, peeling back all Clarke’s hastily erected walls and prickly layers of protection and Clarke found herself retreating, wrapping her arms around herself defensively. “You should take a seat,” Clarke told her instead.

Lexa obeyed easily, settling herself down carefully onto Clarke’s bed; a tightening of her mouth the only indication that she was in pain. The expression pulled at the cut on her lip, a bead of black blood forming in the centre of her mouth.

Clarke found herself reached towards the other girl automatically, taking Lexa’s chin between her thumb and forefinger to force the girl to look up at her. Lexa’s eyes widened slightly but she remained placid at Clarke’s touch, unmoving as Clarke ran her thumb across the dark scab forming across Lexa’s mouth, tugging the swollen bottom lip down. Lexa’s hands clenched into fists, holding them tight against her legs.

Their eyes met; the air treacle thick between them

“You could have stopped those guards,” Clarke said softly, swallowing as she remembered the way Lexa had moved in the forest; the ease she had taken Murphy’s gun.

Lexa blinked slowly, not denying it.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” Clarke asked, releasing Lexa’s chin.

“And what good would that have done?” Lexa asked calmly, the tip of her tongue darted out, touching the healing cut. They were still close enough that Clarke could feel the heat of Lexa’s skin, a fire radiating from inside the girl. “If I had stopped them, it would have made things worse.”

Clarke knew that Lexa was right. It didn’t matter if the guards had started things, the council would never have taken Lexa’s side, not with the violence between their two people lingering in air like ashes. It didn’t make it any easier for Clarke to admit however and the unfairness of it was bitter on her tongue.

“They should never have dared to touch you,” Clarke said finally. She jerking her hands through her hair roughly, remembering the council meeting this morning. Even the councillors who hadn’t been ready to leap straight into war thought the grounders were their enemies, they would never agree to work with them.

“Clarke.” Lexa’s voice was calm but there was a sharpness underneath her rolling vowels, an authority that made Clarke fall still and look towards the girl. Despite her bare legs and her frizzing mane of curls, Lexa had managed to make Clarke’s childhood bed appear like a throne. She was straight-backed, her eyes half cast, lazy as she spoke. Gone was her wide-eyed childlike curiosity as she poked at Raven’s gadgets. Replaced once more by the self-assured grounder who had ordered Clarke and the Nyko around, completely certain in her authority. “Your people lashed out because they were scared of mine. Ignorance is the root of their fear.”

“Well, that and your war paint.”

Lexa looked vaguely pleased “it is meant to intimidate our enemies.”

Clarke laughed, letting her anxiety unravel from the knot it had formed inside her chest. She dropped down onto the bed next to Lexa, close enough that the girl’s bare knee brushed against her thigh.

“The council will ask you about the army; they think your people are going to attack.”

“Not an unreasonable assumption.”

Clarke glanced at Lexa, gnawing worriedly on her lip. “Will they? Attack us?”

“Not while I am here. My people are honourable. They will honour the deal you made for my return.”

Clarke sighed, “This is all such a mess. We should be moving on Mount Weather. Instead, we waste our time arguing and gathering information.”

“You are impatient,” Lexa said, unmoved by Clarke’s speech. Her eyes were flat, ancient in her face. “Your mother is correct; you should not rush blindly into a war with an enemy you don’t understand. A good leader gathers information on their enemies; to not do so is lead your people to their deaths.”

Clarke flinched, stung by the unsympathetic judgment in Lexa’s words. She thought of Anya, all spite and fire and impatience and wondered how she had ever created someone like Lexa.

“I’m just worried about my friends.”

“I know.” Lexa's hand brushed Clarke’s knee. A glancing touch that disappeared so quickly that Clarke thought she had imagined it. “But your love for them is a weakness; it clouds your judgement.”

“Love is not a weakness.” Clarke bit out. She remembered suddenly Lexa’s parting with Anya, the stolen moment of tender familiarity where the two grounders had reached out for each other in Mount Weather’s cages. Clarke shook her head at Lexa, not believing her cold, unforgiving silence. “You don’t believe that.”

“You elevate the people you love over others. Their safety and comfort will always be your priority. If you are to lead you can not do that.” Lexa argued.

“I don’t want to lead.”

“Clarke,” Lexa said softly, “You already do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so annoyed the show denied us Lexa/Raven interactions. Arguably Raven is the biggest asset the Arkers have - the girl can apparently make anything or solve any issue - so I can't see why Lexa wouldn't have wanted to use her.


	7. Chapter 7

Once upon a time, Clarke had wanted to be a painter. She could lose herself for hours, days, in paints and pencils, falling into a meditative like state as inspiration poured out of her. She had read books about Caravaggio, of Picasso and dreamed of a similar future, of a life dedicated to her craft.

But the ark had no need for artists, no place for art and Clarke had resigned to following in her mother’s footsteps, to training as a doctor.

Clarke ran her fingers over her bookshelf; finger dragging through the dust that had formed over her much loved fourth-hand volumes. A medical journal was squeezed between two different books on renaissance painters. It all seemed so distant now; a million years from the reality Clarke had found herself in. The worries, the conflict that had consumed her as a child about her future felt almost comical. 

Behind her, Lexa was changing, the whisper of clothing over skin the only sound in Clarke’s bedroom. When Clarke had presented her with new clothing, Lexa had immediately started to shrug off the borrowed jacket and Clarke had stumbled, turning away before Lexa could reveal herself. Clarke’s eyes remained on her books, staring at them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world and she didn’t want to glance over her shoulder.

Clarke winced at the abrupt sound of fabric ripping and Lexa cursing in Trisleng filled her bedroom.

“You OK?” she asked.

“No,” Lexa said shortly, sounding more frustrated than Clarke had ever heard. She glanced around to find the girl half-dressed. Lexa had managed to slip out of the hospital gown and into the jeans but her bandaged arm had proved too much work to navigate and the t-shirt hung around her neck, the fabric barely covering her breasts.

Clarke swallowed. “Let me help.”

Lexa’s torso was as narrow as the rest of her, her waist small enough that Clarke thought it would disappear under the length of her hands. But beneath her golden skin was layers of muscle, coiled strength. The groves of Lexa’s hardened abdominal muscles were visible, jumping out as she chuckled.

Together they managed to stretch the t-shirt out a point where Lexa could force her arm through the hole. Lexa didn’t make a noise but her teeth were gritted tight, sweat beading up across her forehead. Clarke’s hands were gentle, apologetic as she slipped the sling back over Lexa’s head, gently placing the injured forearm back into position.

Outfit complete, Clarke stepped back to assess the other girl.

The outfit wasn’t too dissimilar to what the grounders wore; trousers and a t-shirt. But there was no bulky leather or animal hides. The t-shirt Lexa was wearing was one Clarke had picked because it had a fading print of the Ark’s badge, chosen in the hope it would make the council think of Lexa as just another person rather than an enemy. But Clarke hadn’t realised how soft and thin the cotton shirt had worn: it did nothing to disguise the sharp bird bones of Lexa’s shoulder blades or the strong curve of her biceps. The dark outline of a tattoo was visible on her arm, stretching down almost to her elbow: a swirling pattern contained within sharp angular edges. Clarke wanted to touch the tattoo suddenly, fingers itching as she wondered if would feel raised against Lexa’s skin.

Clarke’s winced. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She should be worrying about Mount Weather and the council, not about what Lexa’s skin felt like. Her cheeks still hot, Clarke looked up to find Lexa watching her.

Lexa’s mouth twitched; her smile all teeth.

“There is a mirror over there.” Clarke gestured to the other side of the room, relieved when Lexa turned away, attention captivated elsewhere.

Lexa scrubbed at the dust covering the cracked surface, admiring herself. She pushed at her hair, huffing in irritation as curls tumbled between her fingers, falling wildly around her face. Clarke smiled in amusement, opening her desk draw and pushing aides her paintbrushes, “I think I have some hair ties in here, you could braid it?”

Lexa stared at Clarke’s hand as she offered up a tangle of hair ties; her mouth twisted down, eyes looking pointedly down at her sling.

Clarke’s cheeks flamed, “Oh right, sorry. I didn’t think….”

“It is fine. I do not know how to braid my own hair anyway.”

Clarke paused, eyebrows raising as she understood. “You don’t know how?”

Lexa’s chin jerked up, imperious but the tips of her ears were pink. “I have never needed to. My mother used to do it, and then Anya and now … there are many people who braid my hair.”

“Yeah…. Of course.” Clarke wasn’t sure what to say. The girl before her had seemed so self-sufficient, she knew how to navigate the woods, how to hunt, how to fight. To find out that she didn’t know how to style her hair was baffling, a strange contradiction that made Clarke feel a surge of bemused protectiveness.

“It is fine –“

“I can.” Clarke interrupted. “I can do it for you. I mean, I’m not good enough to do anything fancy but I can….”

Lexa hesitated, the tip of her tongue darting out. Clarke though for a moment the girl would refuse her, that maybe she had unknowing made some sort of grounder cultural faux pas. But then Lexa nodded slowly, “Yes, I accept your offer.” As if she was doing Clarke a favour.

The ended up sat on Clarke’s childhood bed. Lexa cross-legged before her, her head titled slightly back. Her hair was incredibly thick, a mane of dark curls that stretched all the way to the curve of her waist. It was the type of hair Clarke had envied as a child. Her own hair was fine without enough coarseness to hold curls or elaborate hairstyle for more than a couple of minutes and Clarke found herself lifting hands full of Lexa’s hair, mesmerised by the weight of it.

After she had teased out knots, Clarke began plaiting. She didn’t try to replicate the pattern of braids Lexa had worn before; instead, taking the top half of her hair and splitting it in two, creating two French plaits that she brought together and overlapped, circling the top of Lexa’s head. It seemed somehow fitting to give the girl a crown.

Eagerly Lexa went to admire herself in Clarke’s mirror, angling her head back and forth.

“Do you like it?” Clarke asked, amused by her vanity.

“Very much,” Lexa said. “Maybe when I leave, I should take you with me. Keep you so you can style my hair every day.”

Clarke laughed, uncurling herself from her bed and coming to stand behind the girl. It was easy, too easy to rock up onto her tiptoes and place her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa allowed it, tilting her head to make room for Clarke’s face as if they had done this a thousand times before. Both of them forgetting, for a moment, they were enemies, that they barely knew each other.

In the mirror two Skaikru girls watched them; dark and blonde hair tangling together.

* * *

The council was waiting; half a dozen faces trained on them as Clarke and Lexa entered the room. Lexa couldn’t stop her eyebrows sliding up into her hairline as she took in the flickering hologram table at the centre of the room: a model of the Ark rendered in a million tiny blue lights.

“Thank you, Clarke, you can leave,” Abby said.

The council members were watching Lexa with suspicious, narrowed eyes. Their mouths curled in distaste as Lexa stood before them, looking small and young and painfully alone.

Clarke dropped into a vacant seat in the corner of the room, sliding down the chair until her legs were loose-kneed and sprawled in front her defiantly. Abby met her gaze and Clarke crossed her arms, quirking an eyebrow. A muscle jumped in her mother’s jaw but she didn’t say anything, turning instead to Lexa.

“Lexa,” Abby said, a smile on her face. “I’m glad to see you are on your feet. I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Abigail Griffin, I treated your wound.”

Lexa remained silent, her thousand-yard stare piercing right through Abby’s affected friendliness.

“We are the council; we make decisions on behalf of our people.”

“I know. You are the chancellor.” Lexa said.

Abby’s eyebrow raised in surprise. “Yes, that’s right. Lexa, your people – they have brought an army to our gates-“

“Trikru.” Lexa interrupted.

Abby’s smile sliding off her face “Pardon.”

“It is a Trikru army.” Lexa corrected. 

“That’s one of the clans,” Clarke added helpfully from the back of the room and Lexa glanced at her from the corner of her eyes, a flash of green before she was back to staring at Clarke’s mother.

“This is Trikru territory, so it is Trikru who have come to see their invaders. One clan’s army for now. The commander will send more if Trikru ask”

There was a nervous muttering from the corners of the rooms. The army along the hills seemed huge, their warning fires spread like stars throughout the entire forest. Clarke did not think the council had expected to be told this was only 1/12 of a potential army. Abby’s lips were pinched, pressed together to hold back her emotions as she took in Lexa’s words, no doubt already weighing up numbers and firepower.

“But we are not invaders” One of the council members added.

“Your people took our land and claimed it as their own. You burnt down one of our villages and offered no reparation. You killed our warriors. You have erected fences, cut down our trees. Your flag flies above your fallen ship. These are all acts of invaders.”

The council members glanced at each other; maybe for the first time considering how they were viewed by the native population.

“We had no control over where we landed. We’re not invaders.” Abby repeated firmly, leaning forward across the table.

“But you made the decision to stay.” Lexa pointed out calmly.

“Is that why your people are here, to force us to move?” The angry councillor from that morning was on his feet, moving towards Lexa, his face flushing.

Lexa was unfazed by the man’s anger, statue-like as he stopped agitatedly in front of her, held back by Abby’s warning hand.

“It would be Trikru’s right. You have no claim on this land, Trikru have not agreed to let you stay.”

There was a second wave of chatter from around the council table. Clarke strained forward trying to pick up out the differing strands of conversation; as expected that was a couple of councillors who were ready to fight, indignant with their perceived right to the land they had landed on. But there were other more considered approaches of evacuation, of compromise.

“You said Trikru hadn’t agreed to share their land, but they might, right?” Clarke asked, ignoring the glares she received at her interruption.

Lexa took her time to answer. She titled her head slightly and the movement had the councillors leaning forward, their attention held hostage by the strange girl in their midst. Somehow in the space of a few minutes, Lexa had gone from looking like a prisoner before a jury to a queen holding court.

“They might. But you would have to make peace with the commander. Trikru is part of the commander’s coalition.”

One of the councillors scoffed, sneering at Lexa before turning to Abby. “Chancellor you cannot be considering this! We did not come to Earth to sell ourselves to these Barbarians.”

“No one is asking us to sell ourselves.” Abby interrupted exasperated. “Lexa is talking of a treaty. Is that not what Marcus went to find? A peaceful solution with the grounders.”

“And look where that got him. He left four days ago and still has not returned. How do we know they haven’t killed him?”

“And remember what they did to our men – crucified them. They do not want peace.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the surrounding councillors, an undercurrent of resentment rising at the thought of Kane and their murdered men. Lexa remained impassive in the face of their rising emotions, looking bored as Abby struggled to quiet them down.

“The Earth is just as much ours as it is there; we came from these lands.” The angry councillor from the morning had stepped up, eyes gleaming with passion. “This is our home. Our Birthright.”

Another rumble of agreement followed.

“The murders, the army – it is just a tactic to intimidate us because they know we are a threat. Our weapons, our technology is superior.” The councillor sneered at Lexa. He leaned forward; a finger aimed at Lexa’s chest. Clarke tensed in her chair. “She says there are 12 clans but why should we believe her? She is just a child. What does she know of war?”

The councillor slapped his hands onto the table, the movement scattering the blue light of the hologram. “I say if they want a war, let’s give it to them!”

“There will no war.” Lexa interrupted. Her voice was low, the words cold and draw out in contrast to the councillor’s impassioned speech. It was like a gunshot, shocking the council to silence.

Lexa waited. Her arms were clasped tight into the small of her back but her face was relaxed, uncaring of the tension that filled the air. There was an electric current of emotions, poised at any moment to spark to life. Lexa blinked and the councillors swayed forward, waiting silently for the girl to explain, seemingly forgetting that moments ago they had been a breath away from bringing out their pitchforks.

“There is no source of water in your camp; you have no animals, no farms. You do not know what plants are safe to eat and which are toxic.”

“A siege: your people would starve us out,” Abby said, eyes narrowed with understanding.

“Your people will starve anyway.” Lexa retorted, “Winter is coming and it is harsh. You have little shelter and no resources.”

A heavy silence settled over the room, stealing the energy from the councillors. Clarke found herself looking around at the room’s frozen faces, alarmed by the defeat in their eyes. Her mind had been on Mount Weather, on the possibility of an alliance with the grounders, of avoiding a war. She had not given much thought to their long-term survival; but Lexa was right. The Ark had seen thousands of people dropped onto the Earth with no resources. The farming station was gone; there was no water filtration, they had a limited supply of medicine and clothing and electricity. 

Clarke couldn’t help but think of her little camp by the dropship; those long days of hunger and cold and thirst. Some of the boys had become obsessed with the idea of hunting, of bringing back deer and rabbit. But their traps failed, their bullets were too precious to use on hunting and the animals were too quick to catch by hand. The hurried survival lessons they had learnt on the ark virtually impossible to put into practice. The had survived on berries and nuts mostly, filling hungry bellies with ice-cold water. That they hadn’t poisoned themselves was more luck than knowledge. By the end of the month, all of them had been gaunt cheeked and weary, clothing hanging off too thin limbs. Clarke didn’t think they could have survived winter.

She had assumed with a childlike, unthinking belief that the adults wouldn’t face the same problems. That would know what to do.

Clarke stood up, staring wide-eyed at her mother. “Mom, is this true?”

“No,” Abby said fiercely, her voice all parental authority, directed at Clarke. “We survived in space; we will survive here.”

Lexa didn’t say anything; her eyes a burning judgment that none of the councillors could meet.

“Kane went looking for peace. We should honour his wishes.” Abby said finally, dragging her gaze back to Lexa, “We can help each other; this doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.”

Lexa seemed to consider this, glancing up from beneath the heavy sweep of her eyelashes, “My people value trade.”

* * *

It was dark by the time Abby dismissed her council; dark shadows etched under the eyes of the faces around her.

After Lexa’s veiled threat of a siege, the council had spent hours grilling the girl on the particulars of the grounder army: how many warriors did Trikru, what weapons did they use, Clarke had spoken of biological warfare – was this something they would use against the Ark? Lexa had been vague with her answers, proclaiming ignorance and she had been so young, so seemingly guileless that the council had taken her at her word and dismissed her. Abby wasn’t so sure.

There was something about this grounder that set her teeth on edge; a prickling sense of danger as she watched the way Lexa’s eyes took in the council chambers, lingering on the maps of the fallen Ark, on the lists of their supplies, on her daughter.

After Lexa had left, the talks had turned to trade and Abby had spent three hours watching as the councillors discussed medicine and technology and what if they could bargain for crops and meat and furs to get their people through the winter. The way they talked it was as if they had tricked the grounders, as if they had already left the negotiation tables exchanging baubles for desperately needed supplies and resources. Abby found herself growing warier with each passing second, left wrung out and exhausted by the time they closed the meeting.

Once the meeting had closed, her thoughts turned back as always to Clarke and her grounder shadow. God did Abby hate the way Lexa looked at Clarke, almost as much as she hated the way Clarke looked back.

It was possible that the trauma from their time in Mount Weather had bonded them; that Lexa looked at Clarke as a familiar face in a sea of otherwise hostile people. But there was something about the grounder, a shrewdness to her gaze that spoke otherwise. Not that Clarke would have listened to anything Abby said of course; somehow Lexa had managed to turn her gentle daughter in a guard dog. Clarke dogged her steps, completely enthralled. And Clarke wasn’t the only one. Abby had caught Major Byrne giving the girl a book and even Raven had spent half of their catch up asking after Lexa, her interest badly disguised behind her bristling attitude. The girl had only been in their camp for two days and she had half of Abby’s people wrapped around her finger. It was unnerving.

Still thinking of Lexa’s strange presence, Abby’s feet took her to the small, cornered off medical-tent.

As expected Clarke was there, sat with her head bent close to the grounder. Major Byrne was stood to attention in the corner of the room, unbothered by the grounder’s proximity to Abby’s daughter.

“Clarke,” Abby called through gritted teeth.

Clarke looked up, the remains of a smile still lingering on her face. Stretched out between the girls was a familiar chessboard, the pieces chipped and worn from use. It had been Jake’s chess set; one he had given to Clarke to use with Wells. Abby hadn’t seen her daughter touch it since Jake had been floated, not even Wells had been able to tempt her into a game. Abby’s heart ached.

“Mom,” Clarke said, straightening. The grounder remained silent at Clarke’s side; poised and waiting like a snake.

“Honey, it’s late. You should rest.” Abby told her.

Clarke’s eyes narrowed, a protest building behind her lips. Then she stopped; Lexa’s hand on her wrist, a small shake of her head, and Clarke swallowed her protest and got to her feet. Abby gritted her teeth.

“Major Byrne, please make sure my daughter makes it safely to our quarters,” Abby ordered.

Clarke eyes were narrowed, but she remained close-lipped. She hesitated in the doorway, “I’ll come and get you for breakfast.” She promised Lexa and then strode away, the force of her exit making her feelings clear.

The tent felt impossibly small once Clarke had left, stifling as Abby watched Lexa and the girl watched her back. She forced herself to smile, knowing that it was a hollow, insincere thing. She was suddenly uncertain as to what her reasoning for being here was, what she expected to be able to get out of the girl.

“I thought now would be a good time to check on how you’re healing,” Abby said finally, snapping on medical gloves. Lexa blinked, lowering herself down onto the bed as Abby approached. Her hair spilled out across her pillow, the neat braids looking a halo framing her young, innocent eyed face.

“Give me your arm,” Abby told her shortly and Lexa did so silently, her green eyes boring into Abby as she unravelled the bandages.

The bullet wound had been stitched; the raw edges coated with hardened blood that looked like an oil spill against Lexa’s fair skin. But other than the strange colour of her blood, she was healing well. Impossibly well.

“I have been told I am a quick healer,” Lexa said, almost as if she could read Abby’s mind.

Abby kept her gaze down as she wrapped the wound up in new bandages, not quite trusting herself to look the girl in the eye. “Does that have something to do with your blood? The colour of it?”

“No,” Lexa said, “Some of us are just born this way.”

That was interesting; Abby found her thoughts diverting, trying to recall what could cause black blood. Some genetic diseases or conditions? Maybe something that evolved due to radiation. Lexa took Abby’s distraction as a sign the examination was over and slid upright so her back was against the headboard and replaced her sling. The movement caught Abby’s wandering attention, and she finally realised what shirt Lexa was wearing.

“Where did you get that?” Abby asked, staring down at the faded Ark logo. She knew the answer, of course, she knew every piece of Clarke that had been left behind in their quarters. Before they let her visit her daughter, Abby would go in there and press her face into Clarke’s clothing, trying to remember the scent of her. It was a practice she had taken up once more when they 100 had been dropped to earth. It was irreverent, profane for this grounder to be wearing Clarke’s clothes.

Lexa didn’t look down at the shirt, her gaze steady on Abby’s face. But her fingers twitched, rubbing at the corners of the soft fabric.

“Clarke gave it to me.” Lexa said steadily, “She picked it.”

Of course, Clarke had decided to put Lexa in her own clothes rather than take some of the spares being distributed. And of course, she had chosen something stamped with the emblem of the Ark. The shirt was a badge of ownership, Clarke might as have branded the girl with her name. The gesture was so needlessly possessive, so crude. Abby wondered if Lexa understood, if this was what she had wanted.

Lexa was watching Abby, her head tilted birdlike and curious as Abby struggled with her surge of resentment. She felt raw, her wounds visible to the girl’s cool, knowing gaze.

“You are worried about Clarke,” Lexa said softly.

“Clarke is my daughter. Of course, I worry about her.” Abby responded. She met Lexa’s gaze square on. “My people don’t think you are a threat. And I hope they are right because I won’t let you harm my daughter.”

Lexa frowned, “Clarke saved my life; I owe her a life debt. I won’t harm her”

“Maybe not intentionally.” Abby conceded, “But she’s becoming attached to you. She’s just a kid, and she’s been through a lot. I don’t want her getting hurt when you leave her. When you pick your people over her.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, the green of her eyes bright beneath the heavy sweep of her eyelashes. “There are stories of your daughter. She arranged a meeting with mine under the guise of brokering peace and then her men open-fired. She kidnapped and tortured one of our hunters. She burnt 300 of our warriors alive.”

“She did what she had to.” Abby bit out.

“I am not describing these events to insult her,” Lexa said, “but your daughter is not a child and she is not weak. She is loyal to her people.”

“She is loyal to the people she loves.” Abby corrected. For the first time, Lexa seemed to have no response; the girl pressed her lips together, contemplative.

Abby felt relieved in a way, glad that the idea of Clarke’s affection was enough to give the grounder pause. Lexa rubbed at her face and Abby noticed how pale the girl was, how dark the circles beneath her eyes were. Despite her composure and thousand-year stare, she couldn’t have been much older than Clarke. Still a child herself. Abby wondered where Lexa’s mother was, if she was sleepless with anxiety wondering where her daughter was. Just as Abby had been while Clarke was gone.

Her gaze slid over to the abandoned chess game on the table next to Lexa’s bed. The black king stood directly in front of towards Lexa; its subjects were scattered across the board leaving the King unguarded and alone. But despite that the positioning of the black pieces; Lexa had been winning.

“You know how to play chess?” Abby asked distractedly. Somehow, she had not thought it possible that the grounders could play chess. They seemed so primitive, so savage. Lexa’s obvious familiarity the with game made her brain stutter, a blip of cognitive dissonance.

Lexa nodded, “It is not widely played but my mother enjoyed the game. It has been a long time since I have played.”

“Oh?”

“There was no one to play with when she died,” Lexa explained and Abby flinched, taken aback by the casual mention of death. Lexa raised a shoulder slightly, “It was a long time. I was very young when the mountain took her.”

“Mount Weather took her?”

“Yes, and my father.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Abby said thickly. Losing Jake had near destroyed Clarke, it had nearly destroyed both of them. She couldn’t imagine leaving Clarke alone with no one.

Lexa nodded, accepting the condolences, her fingers moving in her lap. “Clarke is lucky to have a mother who cares about her as much as you do.”

Abby swallowed. All she had ever done was try to love her daughter. It had been easy when Clarke was young and Clarke had returned her love threefold, a fountain of endless affection.

But as Clarke had grown older, things had become harder. They disagreed, they fought. It had felt like Abby’s love often fell short, that in her desperation to keep her daughter safe and happy she squeezed too tight. All of Abby’s decisions over the past few years seemed to hurt Clarke, to push her further and further away. Abby had thought she knew what was best for Clarke, that she knew how to protect her. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“You should rest,” Abby said thickly. “I am sure Clark will be dragging you out of bed at first light. I’ll come and check your dressing tomorrow.”

Abby couldn’t make herself say it, but there was a hesitant, wary permission of Lexa and Clarke’s friendship in her words. Clarke wasn’t four years old anymore; Abby couldn’t choose her friends for her, couldn’t shield her from the world. The tighter Abby clung, the more she tried to protect her daughter, the faster she could feel herself losing Clarke.

Abby was still wary of Lexa; still unconvinced by the girl’s guileless ignorance but she was just a girl. A child whose parents had been stolen away from her only to find herself taken by the very same enemy. No wonder she clung so tightly to Clarke. And maybe if Clarke was preoccupied with Lexa, she would stop worrying about Mount Weather and trying to force an alliance with the grounders.

Lexa’s green eyes were pale, ice-covered leaves as she watched Abby take off her plastic gloves. As Abby walked back to her quarters, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Lexa had known exactly where the confrontation between them would lead.

* * *

Cage was worried.

Lorelai could feel the buzz of anxiety coming from him, vibrating beneath his skin as he paced behind her. He had been like since the other Ark kids had started volunteering, offering their blood. Their generousness was unexpected and frankly suspicious but Lorelai didn’t care. She knew the limitations to what they could achieve with the Ark kids’ blood and she had found something more promising, more useful to spend her on. Cage’s unwavering preoccupation with his father and the Ark kids, however, was frankly a distraction she didn’t need.

“Don’t you have other places to be?” she asked irritated, eyes focused on her computer screen.

“My father knows we were behind the breach that hurt Maya.”

“If he knew you’d be in jail. He suspects.” Lorelai corrected.

“Yeah,” Cage agreed vaguely. “Yeah, and it doesn’t matter anymore, right? Now the kids are volunteering. We don’t need to create any more incidents. Problem solved.”

Lorelai sighed in defeat, realising she wasn’t going to get any work done until after she had explained things to Cage once more. She took off her glasses, and turned around to face the president’s son. “They’re volunteering for now. But we need more blood than we can safely take from them.”

“But –“

“If we use them as your father wishes, they are at best an additional supplement to our existing treatment. But their blood can’t make us radiation resistance. You saw what happened to the Keenan.” 

Cage winced at the reminder of Keenan Mykulak’s death. The blood transfusion had slowed down the process, but the girl had still died like all the others – radiation burning right through her, her skin blistering and organs boiling. It had been a resounding failure to be frank. The Ark kids’ blood was useful, better than the grounders they captured but it wasn’t enough to get them out of this underground cage. Frankly, Lorelai had always known that blood would not be enough to solve her people’s diseases. But she knew that Cage needed to figured that out for himself and so hadn’t bothered to explain her predications before they left Keenan Mykulak asleep in the grass outside the bunker.

Besides, it was rare Lorelai got to observe a death due to radiation exposure from start to finish. The data she had gained from that experiment had almost been worth the wasted Arker blood. And the girl's wasted, blistered body had been a horrifying but useful reminder to Cage just has precarious their situation was. It made him more malleable, more willing to listen to her other suggestions, to push forward with her experiments. Lorelai just hadn’t predicated how it would also made Cage anxious, fearful of what they doing. His constant blubbering was starting to piss her off.

“There isn’t even enough Ark kids to replace the blood we take from the grounders. It wouldn’t even treat the widespread aplastic anaemia. This doesn’t change anything Cage. It isn’t enough.”

Cage went quiet, face drawn tight. “So, you want to move onto the next stage?”

“Actually, no.” Lorelai glanced back at her computer, looking once more over the markers she had found in the grounder’s black blood. “I need more black blood. My sample size is too small.”

Cage blinked, thrown off by her abrupt tangent. They had discussed Lorelai’s findings of course but she knew she had lost him somewhere when she tried to explain how protective proteins could bind densely to DNA. Cage hadn’t understood the implication of what she was proposing and Lorelai had accepted his ignorance, deciding that she needed him to focus on convincing his father to allow them to continue their experiments with the Ark kids. She had preferred being able to continue on with her investigation without Cage peering over shoulder anyway. Her grandfather always said that it was best to explore all available avenues and that was what she had been doing, juggling her interest in the blackblood and using the Ark kids blood. But things had moved on, and now Lorelai needed his help.

“But the grounder escaped.” Cage pointed out.

“I know that.” Lorelai said through gritted teeth. “But there must be other grounders with this type of blood.”

“We never found any other before.”

“Maybe it’s new. Maybe these black-bloods live outside our usual hunting ground. For god’s sake, Cage.” Lorelai snapped, palm coming down hard onto the counter. “Do you not understand the possibilities here? This Grounder has been genetically engineering to be resistant to radiation. Her blood’s ability to metabolism, to defend against radiation is off the charts, way beyond the normal grounders, way beyond the Ark kids even. This isn’t natural evolution, it’s man-made. If I had more blood, DNA samples. I could replicate these effects into a serum. I could cure us.”

“Ok,” Cage said slowly. His crooked smile verged on the condescending, “I’ll get you more grounders.”

Lorelai sighed grudgingly. “Thank you.”

“If you replicate this serum, we won’t need the kids right?”

Lorelai paused, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. “We would still need volunteers to trial the serum on.” [1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slight delay - I was horribly sick yesterday.
> 
> So much in this chapter that I want to talk about!
> 
> Firstly, I love the idea that the commander is somewhere between a warlord and a monarch. So while Lexa is a brilliant tactician and politician and warrior, she has had very little experience of some of the more mundane aspects of living such as dressing herself and cooking as she has always had a huge array of people who take care of her for those things. 
> 
> Lexa's comments at the council meeting about the Arkers starving or dying of exposure are really my own thoughts. I really never believed for a moment they would be able to adapt so well or so quickly to their new terrain. They lost the farm station, they would have limited supplies, no knowledge of the food or game in Trikru territory. A clever enemy could lay siege and wait them out over winter - no war needed
> 
> I did end up reading way too much on how animals could survive radiation and stole - in a vague sort of way - the idea of protective proteins binding densely to DNA as an alternative to how the grounders could have evolved to protect against radiation. (As opposed to having blood that metabolises radiation???)
> 
> [1] https://www.newscientist.com/article/2106468-worlds-hardiest-animal-has-evolved-radiation-shield-for-its-dna/


	8. Chapter 8

Clarke wasn’t sure if her ordeal in mount weather had made her people wary of approaching her, or if it was a perk of being the chancellor’s daughter, but since her return to camp, she had been largely been left to her own devices. By day three, however, it seemed like her grace period was over and she found herself commandeered on her way out of her mother’s quarters by a harassed looking Eric Jackson to take inventory.

Clarke spent the following hour hunched over and counting how much insulin and antibiotics and sterile needles they had left, Eric hovering anxiously behind her.

“Is that all?” Eric asked her, frowning at her scribbled tally.

Growing up with her a chief medical officer for a mother had made it impossible for Clarke not to realise that the Ark’s medical supplies were limited. She had seen her mother agonising over spreadsheets, trying to calculate minimum dosages and creating impact reports. Life and death reduced to figures and probability. But even seeing all that, Clarke hadn’t realised how low supplies actually were. She dropped a half-empty box of amoxicillin into her lap, turning to look up at Eric.

“Why are we doing this?”

“The council gets reports on all our supplies. Medicine, food, fuel.”

“But why now? Aren’t there more urgent things to be doing? Why –“ Clarke cut herself off, “Are things that bad?”

“No, no.” Eric looked vaguely alarmed at her sudden anxiety. “They’re thinking about brokering peace with grounders. By trade, like you said we should”

“Oh.” Clarke, a surge of surprised vindication knocking her back down into her seat. She looked around at the half-empty supply cupboard, “And do you think we could trade with the grounders?”

Eric sighed, “Maybe, but it won’t be with medicine.”

Inventory checking somehow led to distributing blankets to the clusters of tents which had sprung up in the shadow of the ark. That led to digging holes into the ground for fence posts to go into and finally to helping set up a series of water-butt to collect rainwater.

It was past noon before Clarke managed to grab a break. Her limbs ached with exertion and her hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat. But it had felt good to be helping: the physical labour had soothed out the jagged, anxious edges of her mind. It was the first day since arriving at the Camp that she had managed to think about something other than the kids she had left behind in Mount Weather. The first day that she had managed to forget that Finn was being held by the grounders.

The lunch bell rang out from the canteen and the workers around her peeled off, waving goodbye. Clarke waved back with a smile, remembering guilty that she had promised Lexa she would be returning for breakfast. All of Lexa’s meals so far had been brought to her; served half cold on metals trays while she waited in the cornered off medical tent. Clarke glanced at the snaking line forming for the canteen, a potentially bad idea forming.

“Clarke.”

Murphy was sat in the shadows of a nearby tent; half hid in darkness. Clarke glanced at him and rolled her eyes, ignoring him as he stood up, keeping pace with her as she walked.

“Shouldn’t you be in jail?”

Murphy spread his arm, “All crimes forgiven, remember.”

A muscle in Clarke’s jaw ticked, “What do you want, Murphy?”

“Just wondering about your little grounder pet.”

“She’s not a pet.” Clarke snapped, “And she wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t shot her.”

“I think you’ll find that was Finn, not me,” Murphy said, his flat expression almost daring Clarke to go down that line of conversation.

Clarke shook her head, “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.”

“Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole.” Murphy reached out for, hand retreating immediately when Clarke slapped him away “I just think it’s strange is all.”

“What’s strange?”

“That within three days, that grounder has made friends with the chancellor, the chancellor’s daughter, and our best mechanic.”

“So?”

“So, three days ago they were our enemies. They were killing our men and crucifying them. Can’t you see what she’s doing: she’s manipulating you; she’s manipulating everyone.” Murphy’s eyes were intense, a flare of frustrated emotion that had Clarke stepping backwards.

Murphy sighed, stepping away, “Whatever, you don’t trust me.”

“I wonder why that is.” Clarke snapped back, arms crossed, closing herself off.

Murphy shrugged; hands raised in defeat.

“She’s one grounder. She’s just a girl I rescued,” Clarke said, pushed to defend Lexa.

Murphy’s smile was crooked, bleak. His head jerked, gesturing to the faint grounder fires scattered across the hills surrounding the camp, “If she’s just a random grounder, then why is there an army watching us? Tell me Clarke, what do you really know about her?”

* * *

Murphy’s words lingered with Clarke as she made her way to the small medical tent. Major Byrne was stood guard outside, nodding at Clarke in greeting as she stalked inside. 

“You’re late.”

Lexa pushed herself up from her bed, her voice a low rumble of impatience. Her plaited crown had come loose in the night and her hair was kinked and tangled, a frizzing bird’s nest floating around her scowling face. The sight of her made Clarke’s lips twitch involuntary, laughter bubbling across her tongue as Lexa’s eyes narrowed warningly. Murphy’s condemnation of Lexa seemed ridiculous in that moment and Clarke let his words slip away, swallowed by her amusement.

“Sorry, I got held up.” Clarke managed to forced out.

Lexa huffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, ordering Clarke to fix it. She was so secure in her authority that she didn’t bother to wait for Clarke to agree. Lexa, Clarke had noticed, did that sometimes: her patient, considerate exterior slipping to reveal an imperious, spoiled little sultan. It should have been irritating but Clarke was oddly charmed by Lexa’s complete lack of awareness of social norms, her unwavering belief in her own authority. She wondered if it was grounder thing or just a Lexa a thing.

Clarke let her mind wander as she styled the grounder’s hair, the sleek curls heavy between her fingers. Lexa remained silent, coldness radiating off her that only waned when Clarke offered to take her to the canteen for lunch. Lexa glanced over her shoulder; green eyes unable to hide her intrigue.

The camp canteen was a long narrow space carved into the ark’s lilting outer wall; a hastily assembled canopy of sheet metal and ruined tent polyester kept the area protected from the elements. There were some tables squeezed inside the narrow galley but most people preferred to sit outside when the weather permitted and a cluster of makeshift chairs and benches had sprung up in the shadow of the canteen; stumps of wood being used as stools and empty barrels as tables.

By the time they made their way to the canteen, half the camp was stood queueing; a long snaking line of people running down towards the electric fence. On the ark, strict rationing and a lack of resources to store produce meant most families had to go to the main canteens for all their meals and Clarke remembered the long winding queues at the canteens vividly. Clarke found herself falling into line automatically, shifting nervously as people joined behind them. They were boxed in on all sides by Arkers; her skin prickling as she sensed eyes on her.

“Is this how you decide who gets to eat first?” Lexa asked, leaning sideways to view the distant canteen.

Clarke snorted, “Pretty much. It’s first-come, first-serve” She glanced at the girl, “How do your people decide?”

“It depends. For formal dinners, food is laid out on the table. But no one may eat until the Commander does.”

Clarke pulled a face.

“It is a sign of respect,” Lexa said.

“But what if the commander isn’t hungry? Does no one get to eat?”

“The previous commander used to do that.” Lexa’s voice was distant, “He would order a feast, as magnificent as you can imagine – boar and suckling pig, apples coated in honey. And then when everyone would sit down, ready to eat, he would wait. Just watch us as the food grew cold.”

“The old commander sounds like a dick,” Clarke mumbled.

“He felt powerless so he exercised what little control he had over those close to him.”

“Still a dick.”

Lexa’s teeth flashed, an expression caught between feral and amused. “Yes, I suppose he was.”

Clarke frowned, remembering Murphy’s words suddenly about Lexa’s identity. The commander was the highest power of the twelve clans, how had Lexa had ended up dinning with the commander? Lexa had never offered an explanation as to who she was or what her place in the mysterious grounder society was and Clarke supposed she hadn’t been that interested in finding out. Instead, Clarke had been focused on keeping Lexa safe and unnoticeable, both for Finn’s sake and for the benefit it could bring to Clarke’s people. Clarke glanced at Lexa, scanning the girl’s pale face and pale eyes as if they would reveal her secrets. 

“Next!”

The line had moved quickly and soon they were at the front of the queue. Lexa looked slightly alarmed as Clarke explained that she needed to take her tray and ask for the food she desired. The grounder walked up to the counter; the tin tray clutched before her like a shield.

“What do you want girls?” the woman behind the counter asked them. There were only three options, all partially solid substances of a porridge-like consistency. Clarke pointed at the bowel closest to her, moving quickly down the line to grab some water. It took her a moment, to realise Lexa had not done the same.

The dark-haired girl was stood in deep conversation with the chef, gesturing from one lumpy liquid to the other. Behind her, the queue was getting restless: hungry eyes drawn to Lexa’s crowned head.

“Lexa. Pick one and come on.” Clarke hissed under her breath. Abby had made it clear that the grounder Clarke had brought with her a guest but Clarke would prefer to keep Lexa safe by relying on anonymity rather than the goodwill of her people. In borrowed clothes, Lexa could almost pass as any other member of the ark but she didn’t talk like them, her vowels slipping and sliding, her speech too formal and she didn’t act like them. Clarke smiled up at the chef, grabbing Lexa by the elbow, “She’ll take the one on right.”

Lexa let Clarke take charge silently, looking mildly reproaching when Clarke hurried her into the small table at the edge of the clearing.

“I do not know what I did wrong.”

“Nothing. It’s just people don’t ask so many questions.”

“If I don’t ask questions, how do I know what this is?” As if to make her point, Lexa stabbed her lunch with her spoon watching as the utensil stood upright in by the lumpy substance.

“It’s probably best not to know to be honest. But it’s edible.” Clarke said, already two spoonsful into her own bowl.

Lexa looked at her distrustfully, “I am unconvinced of that.”

“Is that the grounder?”

Clarke felt her spine snap to attention, glancing around to see where the question had come from. At the table behind her, a group of guards were clustered together, thrumming with energy and aggression. They glanced up as she turned towards them, eyebrows drawn low over their eyes and one of them said something out the corner of his mouth, to quiet for Clarke to hear.

Across the clearing, people had started whispering. Clarke could almost see the rumour jumping from table to table. She swallowed feeling horribly exposed as she snippets of conversation reached her: the word grounder featured prominently. Half a dozen pairs of eyes turned towards them, suspicious and unwelcoming. This had been a bad idea. At her side, Lexa was still prodding at her lunch, seemingly unbothered by the suddenly dark scrutiny but Clarke could feel her tensing, muscles vibrating in readiness.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught Clarke’s attention; a scowling man pushing himself upright. His eyes locked on Clarke, on Lexa. Clarke tensed.

“Sit down.”

Bellamy’s voice was a growl; rippling across the yard. He stalked through the cluster of tables with purpose; the broad stretch of his leather-covered shoulders and his growing snarl daring anyone to come closer. It helped that Octavia was at his side; all teeth and scowls, the sharp length of a sword strapped to her back. Without a word, the two Blake siblings dropped down next to Clarke and Lexa, blocking them from sight. Clarke sighed, relaxing minutely.

“This was a great idea.” Bellamy rumbled disapprovingly; his eyes full of furious black fire.

His expression reminded Clarke of those early days at the dropship; of all the heated confrontations they had managed to get into. Bellamy, she now knew had a bruised, soft centre but his outside was fire and spikes. Octavia, she suspected was the opposite. Every time she saw Octavia, the girl’s delicate, pretty image had been scrapped back a little further, the true steel of her exposed beneath.

Bellamy’s gaze flicked from Clarke to Lexa but the grounder’s attention was elsewhere, locked on Octavia, her expression unreadable.

“That is Lincoln’s sword.”

A shadow of pain brushed across Octavia’s face, wrenched out of her in surprise. “He gave it to me.”

“You are Octavia kom Skaikru,” Lexa stated.

“How did- “

“Nyko mentioned you. He said you held a sword to his throat. He also said you saved his life…. And Indra’s.” The corner of Lexa’s mouth twitched, a tell that she was amused by something but trying to hide it, “I bet she hated that.”

A flicker of fierce pride spark in Octavia’s eyes and she seemed to swell, brought alive by the memories of Lincoln and sword fights.

Clarke and Bellamy had been glancing back and forth between the two girls; silent with surprise. Clarke knew Lexa was from Trikru, the same as Lincoln, but she had not thought about the possible connection between the two. Just like Lexa’s comments in the queue, Clarke was reminded of how little she knew of the girl’s identity or background. She was vaguely embarrassed by how easy it had been for her to forget that Lexa had a whole grounder life separate from her. Lexa spoke perfect English; she played chess and in Clarke’s borrowed clothing she could have been just another Arker orphan. Clarke knew that it was all façade but the reminder of it was like an electric shock, unexpected and painful. 

“Did you know Lincoln?” Octavia asked, a warmth, naivety in her that Clarke hadn’t seen since they had first landed.

“Yes. We saw each other sometimes growing up.” Lexa said carefully. There was a hunger in Octavia’s eyes, a desperation that made Lexa tap her fingers on the table and add causally, “You know he didn’t get his full height until he was 17? We used to call him Strik Tri.”[1]

“Strik Tri?”

Lexa paused, thinking about the translation, “Tiny tree.”

“He didn’t teach me that one.” Octavia said, “He kept making me say Ai laik Okteivia kom Skaikru.”

“Your accent is terrible.”

“He said that too.”

Bellamy was tensing at Clarke’s side, looking between Lexa and Clarke with increasing horror. Clarke could practically hear the part of his brain that looked at Octavia and saw a seven-year girl, safe only because he kept her hidden. Clarke grabbed at Bellamy’s leather-covered arm, the weight of her grip holding him down as his muscles tensed and bunched next to her. Octavia, sensibly, did not look in her brother’s direction.

Octavia had curled her hands into fists, pressing them white-knuckled in her lap. “He got taken by the reapers. I tried to save him but it was too late.”

Octavia’s mouth quivered, her smile torn between love and grief. Unlike Bellamy and Raven, Clarke didn’t know what had happened to Octavia while she had been in Mount Weather. Octavia had been vague when asked and Clarke hadn’t been able to decide if it was because the details were personal or if Octavia just distrusted the group’s reaction that much. She wondered if Octavia had even shared her story with Bellamy. Possibly not considering his possessive protectiveness and general dislike of grounders.

Bellamy and Clarke glanced at each other; the harvest chamber unspoken between them. Clarke did not know how long the grounders survived once they were taken there but she had seen the bodies: death was an inevitable outcome. Lexa muttered something in Trigedasleng, her face hard.

“We’re going to get our friends back from Mount Weather,” Clarke interrupted, “We can get Lincoln back too.”

“Yeah? And when exactly are we doing that?” Octavia asked, “It’s been days Clarke. Our people are not interested in Mount Weather.”

Bellamy made a noise of agreement, “They’re more concerned with the grounder army watching us.”

He jerked his head up towards the hills and then turned at Lexa, a hint of accusation in his gaze. Most people couldn’t meet Bellamy’s eyes when he was angry, their hind brain’s telling them to drop their gazes to escape harm. Lexa met Bellamy’s eyes unwavering, blank-faced, and uncaring.

“I know,” Clarke said quickly, her voice breaking up their staring contest. She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “They’re not going to want to fight Mount Weather while they’re worried about the grounders. We can’t afford to fight a war on two fronts. It’s why we need to make peace with the grounders.”

“And then what?” asked Bellamy, “I swear to god, if your mom doesn’t sanction a mission soon, I’ll be going by myself.”

“You won’t be alone,” Clarke said. She could feel Lexa watching them lazily from under her eyelashes, poking at her porridge with seeming disinterest.

“Hey!”

The group paused, lifting their heads to see Raven walking towards them. The dark-haired girl was moving quickly, using her whole body to drag her leg clumsily through the mud. Raven ran into their table, slamming her hands down onto the wood. Her eyes were bright, feverish in a way that Clarke only saw when Raven was on the verge of some great engineering miracle.

“I know why we haven’t heard anything from our people.” Raven began, not bothering with a greeting. She looked between them, eyebrows raised expectantly, “Mount weather have been jamming us.”

Clarke felt the pieces slot into place in her mind, an easy click of understanding.

Of course, Mount Weather were jamming their signals. It was for the same reason they hadn’t told the stolen kids that the ark had landed. They wanted to keep the Ark people separate. Keep them weak. Across the table Bellamy’s face was dark, his thoughts running along the same lines as Clarke’s.

“Sit down. Explain.” Clarke said and the group shuffled around to allow Raven to perch at their table.

Raven squeezed herself next to Lexa; the grounder discreetly helping her to manoeuvre her leg over the bench. Raven shifted against the uncomfortable seating, her shoulder nudging against Lexa’s in a way that looked accidental but Clarke knew was purposeful. It made her feel strange, Clarke’s chest tightening at the strange secretive fondness between the two girls. She coughed, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. In the busy sprawl of tables, heads bowed together to keep their conversation private, Clarke imagined they looked like a bunch of teenagers gossiping.

“I tweaked the resonator. They're filling every frequency with this noise. Long-range communication is totally screwed, it’s also why the range on our walkies sucks.” Raven glanced up at them, hesitating for the first time. “It’s the same signal Monty heard on the black box at the exodus ship.”

“Mount weather crashed the exodus ship,” Clarke stated, the words bitter on her tongue. Of course, they did. She looked at Raven, “Can you get around the signal?”

“Around it? No. But if I can get to the tower that broadcasts it, I can make it go boom.”

“Just one problem.” Bellamy said, “How do we get to the tower? Abby’s made it clear that no one is to leave the camp.”

“I can get us through the fence,” Raven said.

“Then there’s just the grounder army, the reapers and any other hidden traps that might be between here and the mountain.” Bellamy’s words were grim, weighing heavily on the group.

“I can get you there,” Lexa said casually.

A tense silence stretched out like toffee between the group. The Arker's faces were tight with worry and uncertainty, glancing between themselves. Clarke realised the rest of the group had forgotten Lexa was even there; and now they were stuck on the realisation that they had been discussing their plans in front of their would-be enemy.

Lexa looked up when the silence stretched on, her expression bored, as placid as water.

"Clarke." Bellamy started, a sharp shake of his head indicating exactly what he thought of Lexa's offer.

Clarke winced, having to agree with him. Not becuase she doubted that Lexa would turn on them like Bellamy probably but did but because she needed Lexa to stay here, to stay safe.

Lexa turned to look directly at Clarke, a sharpness in her eyes suddenly.

“I grew up in this forest. I know where the traps are, I know where the reapers hunt. And I can get you past the Trikru army without being spotted. You will need me, Clarke. You don’t know the dangers that wait outside this camp.”

* * *

Queen Nia’s throne room gleamed with the decaying grandeur of a bygone age.

The long hall was cold, it’s vaulted arched ceilings doing little to preserve heat. Fires burnt in the alcoves of the hall casting ghoulish, contorted shadows that twisted across the cracked marble floors. Her father, King Theo, used to burn people in this hall, holding court while his enemies screamed and died around him. But Nia couldn’t stand the smell of burning flesh and so the fires burnt only to fight back the icy darkness of Azgeda now. There were warmer rooms, safer buildings that she could have held court from, but Nia enjoyed the rotting splendour, the faded gold, the ceramic ceiling tiles that came together in bright designs of angular diamonds.

Or rather, she enjoyed the fear tinged awe it inspired when people came before her.

Nia tapped her fingers across the freezing marble arm of her throne; impatient as her spy approached. The man’s footsteps were soft, befitting of a spy, but each step echoed around the hall. It was another reason Nia liked this hall; it was impossible for anyone to get close to her without being heard.

The man went to his knees before her throne; clouds of condensation curling up from his bowed head.

“Well, what news do you have for me,” Nia demanded.

“Your majesty, I bring news of the commander.”

Nia found herself tensing, hatred a fire in her belly. At her side, she could feel Ontari shift. It was a tiny movement but it gave the girl away and Nia made a note to have the girl beaten for it. It had been decades since Azgeda had produced a nightblood and Ontari, for all her black blood, for all the time Nia had spent moulding her, was a disappointment. Twisting the girl into something loyal and vicious, a dog primed into a killer, had been easy. But that was all she was. Ontari lacked cunning, lacked vision. Nia couldn’t help but compare her to Lexa and despised the girl for coming up so short.

Not that it mattered, now that Lexa had been taken by the mountain. Soon, Ontari would take the mantle of Commander but it would be Nia who ruled.

“Speak.” Nia hissed at the messenger, expectant.

The spy hesitated. “My queen, the commander is alive.”

The roar of denial that ripped through Nia was an animal’s scream; a cloud of icy smoke pouring from her mouth like dragon fire. She gripped her marble throne, letting the sharp edges cut into her palms, the pain a focal point the kept her sat down, stopping her from flying across the room and beating the spy to death.

The spy had dropped back to his knees, face flattened against the floor. 

“She’s supposed to be dead.” Nia snarled, “the mountain took her.”

“She escaped the mountain.” The spy said into the floor.

Nia seethed, forcing her emotions under control. For thirty-five years, Nia had sat on the Azgeda throne, the longest reign of any clan leader. She had ruled unbroken while half a dozen leaders had risen and fallen in Trikru, unwavering as internal struggles had weakened the other clans. The stability of her rule had made her people strong, allowing Azgeda to expand, creeping ever north and snatching chunks of fertile land from Trikru and Porakru territories. For years, the other clans had been too busy squabbling like children to notice as isolated villages disappeared. And once they did it was too late, Azgeda was too powerful, too large to risk a war with. Not even the Commanders had dared challenge her.

Nia had lived through too many Commanders to believe in the supposed divinity of the flame bearers. She had endured Sheiheida and his cruelty and felt the last of her belief leave her. But the flame was one of the few unifying ideas shared by all the clans; they all retained ancestral memories of Primheda and her salvation. The power of her deliverance was renewed with every new nightblood. And the flamekeepers had fanned the idea of Primeheda and the nightbloods into a cult, a religion that spanned across the twelve clans. Nia was willing to manipulate and murder a commander if she needed to, but she knew better than to outright renounce the flame. Luckily, even the other commanders had known it best to leave Azgeda and Nia alone.

And then there came Lexa. 

The other clan leaders had assumed Luna or her brother would win the conclave. The Floukru twins had been the oldest of the novitiates and by all accounts exceptional: natural strategists, tornados with swords. But Nia had heard stories of their refusal to fight each other, heard how they challenged the flamekeepers’ teachings. It hadn’t surprised Nia when the death of her brother had sent the Luna fleeing. Smart girl: Titus would never have allowed Luna to win either. For all the other clan leaders, Lexa had been a surprise: a skinny, barely pubescent girl from a Trikru family of no mention. But Costia had told Nia she was Titus’ favourite. And it was Titus who had been deciding on who would be the commanders for the past three decades.

Titus had a thorn in Nia’s side she had not seen coming. The man had served four commanders, successfully transitioning between flame bearers while other flamekeepers were expelled or replaced. He as a scrawny, unassuming man and it had taken Nia an embarrassingly long time to see beyond his vocal religious devotion to the manipulative pragmatist underneath. One she had, Nia had decided she needed someone on the inside, to watch over Titus and any new flame bearer. Her niece, Costia had been a soft, curious little thing who struggled with the cold and blood that permeated all aspects of Azgeda. Nia had though the girl would play her part well in the Titus’ flamekeepers. And she had, rising quickly to become his apprentice, the next in line to safeguard the flame. Nia hadn’t realised until it was too late that the only part Costia was playing was that of devoted Azgeda subject. That one she blamed on Lexa.

At fourteen years old, Lexa had started making plans for a coalition. First, she stabilised Trikru, riding the clan lands of fat, trouble-causing Thanes. Then she turned to Shallow Valley and Broadleaf; her power spreading like water across the land. Some of the clans agreed to the coalition willing; desperate for the promise of trade and an end to the violence. And those that didn’t found that Lexa’s victory in the conclave had not been a fluke. This commander was smart, the strategist Luna had been lauded as. She took Delphi in three days, managing to trick their chiefs into sending their armies to an empty battlefield while Lexa’s people took their capital. Nia would have been impressed if she wasn’t so furious.

Azgeda was the last nation Lexa offered entry into her coalition. Nia had more warriors that the neighbouring clans combined and Lexa’s armies were unused to the frozen darkness of Azgeda. Nia would have gone to war there and then at the insult of her offer. But Lexa had assembled a force so large their fires were like a false sun in the night. And that year Azgeda’s harvest had failed. Nia’s people were weak, starving and word of the food available for clans in the coalition was whispered about darkly by every gaunt face Nia passed. So, Nia called back her niece, to provide her with Lexa’s terms.

Nia couldn’t risk her people see her turning away Lexa’s help but she couldn’t be blamed if Lexa resynced her offer. Torturing Costia and executing her was Nia’s right as her Queen, as her aunt. Making Roan return Costia’s head to Lexa’s bed had just been to slake her own fury. She had thought it would push Lexa to attack, to abandon the benevolent image of saviour she had wrapped around herself like a cloak and to stop at talks of collation. But it hadn’t worked. Lexa, cold-hearted bitch that she was, hadn’t shed a tear for Costia. She had shared Nia’s food with a smile. And Nia had had to banish Roan, her heir.

For four years now Nia, had chafed under the rule of the commander’s coalition, watching, waiting as Lexa’s power grew. Despite the bloody civil war Lexa had raged across the country, the people loved her; they grew fat and weak, softened by easy trade and an end to raiding. And Nia’s bad harvests had continued, softened only by Lexa’s generous donations of food and supplies. Even her own people spoke of Lexa as if she was some sort of mystical figure: the reincarnated Primheda come to deliver them once more. The longer Lexa ruled, the stronger her legacy become, the less likely the coalition would fail. But that was fine, Nia had long since come to realise the benefits of the coalition. She wanted the coalition to survive, she just wanted to be the one at the helm of it.

For a while now Nia had been waiting for the right opportunity. Ontari had been ready for a while, and Nia’s armies were prepared to march on Polis a moment’s notice. She just needed to remove Lexa from the playing board. Nia couldn’t risk a war with eleven other clans, couldn’t risk the assassination of the beloved Heda to be linked back to her. So, Nia had forced to wait for an opportunity to present itself.

And then, two weeks ago it had happened. Anya’s army had been decimated by the sky invaders and Lexa had run off alone to find her once mentor, right into the Mountain’s hunting grounds.

The thing that neither Lexa nor Nia’s own people knew or would ever know was that Nia had been in contact with the monsters in Mount Weather for years. While Mount Weather was in Trikru territory, the reapers hunting grounders extended out into Azegda and they had been picking off any of her people they could find. Other rulers might have seen an enemy but Nia saw an opportunity. Nia made sure to send a dozen new bodies into the reaper’s waiting arms each month and the mountain left her people alone the rest of the time. It was amazing how many of her political enemies and prisoners had met their unfortunate end at the hands of the mountain.

Nia had made sure that the Mountain was aware of exactly where Lexa would be and how to capture her.

Her plan had been perfect. No one survived the mountain. Except now apparently Lexa.

“How did she escape?” Nia asked her spy finally.

The spy pressed his forehead harder into the floor; a sure sign that she wasn’t going to like his response.

“They say a sky girl helped her.”

“Skaikru,” Nia hissed, thinking of the whimpering, snivelling prisoners she had locked away in her dungeons. Their technology had been awe-inspiring, heart-stopping. But it was flawed, broken and their people were the same as all people: weak and cowardly, a shadow of what they once were. Nia had been disappointed.

“The commander is with the Skaikru now. She has called her armies to gather”

“To attack the Skarikru or to ally them?”

“It is not known yet.” The spy admitted.

Of course not; it was hard to predict Lexa’s plans.

“And there is something else…” The spy hesitated, the pale silver of his eyes appearing through his hair. “The commander, she has ordered the capture of your son. She had taken Prince Roan.”

Nia turned to Ontari, ice-cold in her rage. “Gather my army. Let us go and offer our support to our Commander in person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah this was a hard chapter to write. The beginning especially felt rather clunky.
> 
> We are rapidly coming to the end of Lexa's time with the Arkers I'm afraid. Clarke is starting to think finally about who Lexa is.
> 
> Yes, I made Costia's Azegda and Nia's niece. I couldn't see how Nia could have got away with killing her otherwise. I also liked the idea that Costia had been send to spy on Titus and the flamekeepers but then become loyal to Lexa.
> 
> I figured the flamekeepers must have had a fair amount of power even before Lexa united the clans. So I see the idea of the flame as something religious and Titus as a bit of a king maker. There was a mention in the show that Lexa was always his favourite and I thought it was interesting that maybe even Lexa's win was somewhat engineered. I also think it makes sense that after Sheihdea the flamekeepers would be wary about leaving who became the commander up to chance. Titus didn't necessarily expect Lexa to turn out the way she did however.


	9. Chapter 9

Octavia crept between the wires of the fence, keeping low into the ground.

The sun hadn’t risen fully yet and the group hoped the shadowy morning light would provide them with some cover as they crept away from the Ark. Behind her, Octavia could hear Raven and Clarke crunching through the undergrowth, her brother taking up the rear. It was as Lincoln had said: Arkers moved like tanks, loud and destructive. It was no wonder the grounders had always known where to find them. 

Lexa appeared suddenly at Octavia’s side, pointing to an animal trail that weaved into a sparse cover of trees growing at the edges of the encampment. With the grounder army at their gates, Octavia knew they needed Lexa but there was something uncomfortable about having to rely on the unknown girl, especially when Lexa moved like a cat through the forest, a predator in its natural habitat. As if she could sense Octavia’s thoughts, the girl glanced at her; her bright eyes as sharp as knives.

They kept to the shadowy corners of the edge of the valley and then right, sneaking beneath and around the grounder army neatly. Now there was just a straight trek to Mount Weather.

“Right, everyone know what they’re doing?” Clarke asked once they were far enough away from the ark to speak.

Clarke had told them of the warren of hidden tunnels she and Lexa had escaped through. Before the bombs, there had been buildings surrounding Mount Weather and she had hypothesized that some of them still had access to the bunker or at least the tunnels beneath the bunker. Octavia had volunteered to go and try and find an entrance. Octavia respected Clarke, she had been a good leader to them. But Lincoln was in the mountain and Octavia knew Clarke would prioritise their people over everything. Lincoln wasn’t a sacrifice that Octavia was going to allow Clarke to make, so she knew that if wanted to save him, she needed to find a way into the mountain that would take them to where the grounders were. Bellamy on realising he couldn’t convince her to stay behind had instead opted to come with her.

“We know our objective,” Bellamy said to Clarke. The two of them stared at each other, doing that thing where they had a whole conversation without speaking. Something in Clarke’s face made Bellamy glance over at Lexa. The grounder was turned away from the group, her sharp eyes locked on the movement in the hills behind them where the grounder army waited.

“I’ll bring her back,” Bellamy promised. Octavia knew he was thinking about the girl betraying them, about having to drag her back so Clarke could keep her promise to the grounder army. He looked at Clarke and thought she was thinking of Finn. But Octavia had seen the way Clarke looked at Lexa, the way her gaze followed the girl like a planet orbiting the sun. She suspected Clarke hadn’t been thinking about Finn at all.

“Meet back here. We have to be back at camp before sundown,” Clarke said and they split up.

Clarke and Raven following the trail down to the base of the mountain and the Lexa leading the Blake siblings upwards. Even with her arm still in a sling, Lexa moved with ease through the rough, rocky terrain. It had been that way with Lincoln too, the forest seeming to move and bend welcomingly around him while Octavia struggled against it. Octavia rubbed at her chest as she remembered; her heart felt swollen, bruised as it pressed against her ribs.

“We’re looking for ruins.” Bellamy said, “Anything that is man-made.”

Lexa had stopped; standing balanced on a jutting rock. She tilted her head to the moss-covered mountain face. “There.”

“It’s just rock.”

“No, Bell. Look.” Octavia said, watching as a stream of insects scurried into the rock face. There was a gap near the ground: a doorway. Octavia ran to the wall and clawed at the moss. Her fingers nails stung as she struck metal and she grinned, rubbing away dirt to reveal a metal door.

Bellamy appeared her side and together they yanked the door open; coughing at the stale damp air that was released into their face with a hiss.

“Good work, O.,” Bellamy said, handing her a flashlight.

Octavia’s flashlight illuminated a grey concrete chamber, the light bouncing off the half-rotted metal husks of old automobiles. There were dozens of cars, all lined up in neat dust-covered rows.

She looked at Bellamy “What is it?”

Bellamy clicked his flashlight on, “Our way in.” He glanced over his shoulder, Lexa was still stood on the rock, watching them impassively. “You coming or what?”

“I told you I would help you find the tunnels. I did not say I would go in them.”

“Scared?”

“Stupidity is not bravery.” Lexa snapped. “The Maunon have had a hundred years to figure out the tunnels beneath their mountain. What makes you think they would not put traps in them? You have no weapons, no way of defending yourselves against our enemies.”

Octavia could see Bellamy hesitating, realising that Lexa was probably correct. They had barely managed to steal some travelling gear when they left; the guns were too carefully guarded for them to risk sneaking one. The only weapon they had was Lincoln’s sword and Octavia’s skill with it so far had mostly come down to luck.

Suddenly there was a scuttling noise; a hundred tiny legs furiously running away from something. Octavia glanced down, watching as a stream of insects ran between her feet, into the mountain. “Bell….”

“Shit. It’s the fog.” Bellamy snarled, his hand had curled automatically around Octavia’s arm, dragging her behind him, away from the danger. At his words, Lexa had spun around, breathing in sharply as the clouds of green fog that rolled over the mountain towards. Lexa cursed, leaping off her rock and running towards them.

“Get inside, close the door.” Lexa snarled; the sudden fierce command in her voices startling them into action. Together the three of them grabbed the metal door, slamming it shut before the fog could reach them and dropping them into abrupt darkness.

The sound of heavy breathing echoed around Octavia; the darkness making it hard for her to identify where Bellamy and Lexa were. A hand touched her arm and she jumped, bringing her flashlight up to illuminate Lexa’s face. The grounder winced as the beam of light hit her directly in the face, pulling away.

“Sorry,” Octavia mumbled.

“Come away from the door,” Lexa said in response, turning around to face the dark underground.

Without agreeing, Octavia and her brother found themselves falling into step behind Lexa, twin shadows at her shoulders. They followed the row of cars; the only light from their twin flashlights illuminated the dusty, ancient faces of the machines. Octavia had read about cars, seen them in the old movies she used to watch with Bellamy while their mother worked. But they had always been in motion, roaring along highways and roads. She didn’t understand why they were all lined up in the dark. A tomb of mechanical servants. 

Ahead of them, Lexa had paused. She reached out towards the back window of a 4x4, using her free hand to wipe the thick, layered dust off the glass. The grounder’s face appeared in the dark reflective surface, green eyes staring straight at Octavia.

In the darkness, something rattled. A faint sound of metal rolling across the concrete floor. Octavia tensed, swinging her flashlight in the direction of the sound. At her side, Bellamy did the same thing, their beams of light searching wildly into the shadows. The darkness felt all-encompassing, oppressive as it fought against their small flickering lights. Octavia felt her skin prickling, goosebumps erupting across her neck. She couldn’t shake the sudden feeling of being watched, stalked.

“We should leave,” Lexa said quietly. Her voice was calm; steady in contrast to the increasingly erratic sound of Octavia’s shallow breathing.

Octavia nodded, not trusting herself to speak and turned around. Her flashlight beam swept across the concrete. From the pool of light Octavia’s flashlight created, monsters surged.

Next to her Bellamy shouted in alarm. He grabbed her, dragging her backwards as the reapers snarled, lunging at them from the shadows. There were two of them; their faces dripping with blood, covered in chalk. They looped across the concrete floor, more animal than human. Unlike Octavia and Bellamy, they were familiar with the strange dark room and moved with quick, unhesitating steps through the dark. They were, Octavia realised in horror, moving too fast to escape.

Lincoln always fought with calmness, he controlled his fear and his anger. Octavia wasn’t like Lincoln. She swallowed, feeling her fear twist into her anger - into rage. She had survived in the dark, stuffed into a hole in the floor. She had survived the Arker’s prison and the dropship. Octavia hadn’t done all that to die, running away from the monsters which had taken Lincoln. She pulled her arm out Bellamy’s grip and grabbed the hilt of her sword. The comforting snick of the blade releasing from its sheath was lost beneath the howls of the reapers. Octavia dropped her flashlight and ran forward.

“Octavia, no!” Bellamy cried after her, his voice echoing quietly beneath the war-drum of her heart.

Her blade caught the first reaper solidly in the meaty bulk of his shoulder, ripping into muscle and bone with a wet squelch. The reaper howled, dropping to his knees and twisting away, the sword blade embedded in his shoulder. Octavia found herself dragged along; her hands still wrapped around the hilt of Lincoln’s sword. Bellamy was still screaming her name, running after her as she skidded across the floor. A growl near her left ear was all the warning Octavia got before the second reaper was barrelling through her, knocking her to the ground. The back of her head smashed into the concrete floor, her jaw snapping shut and her teeth driving into her tongue. A fist slammed into Octavia’s face, knocking her sideways.

“Get off her!”

Bellamy threw himself at the reaper; panicked desperation giving him the strength to knock the man off her. Bellamy scrambled upright, dodging a lunging attack, and managed to force a knee up into the reaper’s chin. The reaper tumbled down, losing his footing.

“Come on, get up,” Bellamy shouted, dropping to the floor where Octavia lay dazed and drunk with pain. He grabbed her by the shoulders, dragging her upright. Octavia tried to help, tried to coordinate her limbs but they skidded out of her control, heavy and useless. Her vision was blurry, her brain felt like it was pounding against her skull.

“Octavia, get up.” Bellamy snarled.

In front of them, the two reapers were back on their feet. They were warier, more cautious as they assessed the Blake siblings, prowling in the dark with barred teeth and senseless, hungry eyes. Any minute now they would attack once more.

Octavia tried to speak, tried to tell her brother to run but when she opened her mouth blood spilled from between her lips and she choked at the sudden taste of metal. She had bitten through her tongue.

Bellamy cursed and scooped her up. He was sweating, his face pinched with fear. He would never outrun the reapers, especially not if he was trying to carry Octavia. He backed away, fingers clutching so tightly into Octavia’s thigh and waist she was sure he was leaving bruises. Not that it mattered anymore. The reapers snarled, sensing weakness, and lunged. Octavia swallowed, metal sliding down her throat. So, this was it; she has escaped the ark only to die trapped in the dark anyway.

“Hei, Ripa”[1]

Somehow in the past few horrifying minutes, Octavia had forgotten that she and her brother weren’t alone. Lexa had stayed back, silent and unnoticed as Octavia and Bellamy had fought. Watching as they failed. Now she lunged.

The grounder was fast, running straight at the reapers. At the last moment, she dropped to her knees, bending backwards, almost folding completely in half as she skidded between the reapers’ clawing hands. The reapers turned, following her and screaming in fury as she dodged them. They lopped after Lexa, forgetting their previous prey.

Bellamy sagged to the floor in relief; still clutching Octavia in his arms. Octavia’s face was pressed against his chest and she could hear the rabbit- fast beat of his heart, pounding hard enough to break through his ribs.

Before them, Lexa was still on her knees as she grabbed Lincoln’s abandoned sword, first in her injured right hand and then tossing it to her left with a hiss of pain. The reapers roared behind her, their fingers skimming her bent head, and then Lexa twisted, throwing her weight into the movement. The blade cut up into one of the charging reapers’ legs, catching him across the shin and knee. The force sent him flying, sailing over Lexa’s head and into the concrete with a sickening crunch. Lexa didn’t pause. She jumped back to her feet, dodging the second reaper’s wild lunge. Her next swing caught the reaper across the chest, and she advanced with a volley of savage slashes, beating him backwards.

The reaper staggered away from the attack, knees folding beneath him like paper. He looked up at Lexa, blood pouring from his mouth. Lexa’s breathing was heavy but slow, calm, as she advanced on the fallen reaper. Lincoln’s sword was held loosely in her hand, hanging down at her side.

“Yu gonplei ste odon”[2] Lexa murmured, and then with a cry, she was spinning, using her momentum to throw her weight behind the blade. With both hands gripping the hilt, she swung the blade, forcing it through the reaper’s vulnerable throat. With a thud, his head dropped off his shoulders, rolling wetly across the floor.

Lexa panted, her gaze scanning over to where Bellamy and Octavia were curled together, watching in mute horror. The grounder tightened her grip on Lincoln’s sword and stalked off after the second reaper.

“How did-“ Bellamy cut himself off; holding his breath as a low growl rumbled behind them. He turned, fingers tightening on Octavia’s waist. From the shadows, the reflective sheen of dark pupils stared back at them.

“Another reaper.” Bellamy hissed, moving backwards on his backside, jeans scrapping the concrete floor. The third reaper growled, uncurling itself from the ground and stretching upright. This reaper was huge, a solid block of muscle that bunched as he prepared to attack. Octavia frowned, trying to make her eyes focus. There was something familiar about him

The snick of a blade behind them signalled Lexa’s arrival. The grounder girl was advancing purposefully; her face was splattered with blood, the contrast making her eyes glow acid green in the dark. Lexa raised her blade and charged towards the reaper. The reaper ran to meet her and stepped into the light.

“That’s Lincoln!” Octavia cried, her words slurred and desperate. She strained against Bellamy’s arms, “Lincoln, Lincoln. It’s me, Octavia.”

The reaper’s eyes travelled away from Lexa, resting on Octavia’s face. But his eyes were blank, soulless. There was no recognition in them.

Lexa and Lincoln meet with a clash. Lincoln dodged her sweeping blade; using his superior height and weight to throw himself bodily at the girl. Lexa stumbled backwards, too slow to dodge as he grabbed at her in a violent bearhug, squeezing her between his huge arms. Lexa cried out, struggling against him and then jerked up her leg, slamming her knee into his crotch. Lincoln’s grip relaxed enough that Lexa was able to rip herself away. She spun away with an uppercut from her sword, leaving Lincoln grabbing at his face, blood dripping from between his fingers.

“No!” Octavia screamed, desperation giving her strength to level herself out of Bellamy’s hands. “Don’t hurt him.”

Green eyes darted towards her; narrowed and furious and then Lexa was rushing back towards Lincoln. She pulled the same trick as she had done with the other reapers, dropping down on one knee to slash at Lincolns’ leg. As Lincoln folded, she got back to her feet and landed a blow to the back of his head. Lincoln dropped down face-first to the ground; his breathing shallow, uneven sounding. Lexa stepped over the reaper, using her foot to roll him over. She spun the sword in her hand, raising it above her head, the point aimed directly at Lincoln’s heart.

“Lexa, please. Don’t kill him,” Octavia said, she lunched towards them but her limbs were still not responding to her and she would have fallen once more if Bellamy hadn’t caught her.

“He is a reaper,” Lexa told them, her eyes on Lincoln. Her hands were white-knuckled around Lincoln’s sword. “Death would be a kindness.”

“No. No, we can help him.”

“Reapers cannot be cured.” Lexa snarled; her face was contorted, emotion cracking through her usual calm mask.

“We can try.” Bellamy said, “Our people may be able to help.”

Lexa hesitated. The muscles in her jaw jumped; the only movement as she stared down at Lincoln.

“Please, please let us try,” Octavia said.

Lexa released a slow furious breath and spun her sword, slamming down the rounded hilt directly into Lincoln’s forehead. The reaper went limp, his eyes rolling back into his head. Lexa turned to them; eyes bright, bloody war paint smeared across her cheeks. Lincoln’s sword still held at her side: blood rolled slowly down its length and dripped from the sharpened point. Lexa barred her teeth at them; as feral and dangerous and the reapers had been.

“Do your best, Skaikru.”

* * *

Lorelai jerked her arm across her workspace, forcing the row of blood-filled vials angrily off the counter.

Glass shattered at her feet, blood spraying across her white pumps and up her legs. Lorelai grimaced, her moment of uncontrollable anger evaporated, replaced by disgust at the mess she had made. She took a step backwards, staring at the bloody footprint she created. The footprint was red.

“Got a bit frustrated, did we?” Cage asked, striding into the Harvest Chamber. He pushed the limp, dangling grounder body hard enough to send it swaying, hands scrapping across the drain beneath its’ head. 

“Accident.” Lorelai lied, reaching down with a cloth to wipe away the blood dripping down her calf. It was cold, slick beneath her fingers and so frustratingly red.

“Well, I hope that’s not the black-blood you so desperately want.” Cage said with a smirk; knowing full well that none of the grounders he had brought her had black-blood

Lorelai didn’t answer him, feeling her anger itching beneath the surface of her skin, curling behind her teeth. She threw the bloody cloth on the counter and marched away, pumps crunching glass satisfyingly.

As promised, Cage had been working his reapers hard to find her new grounders. The Harvest Chamber was full, all cages packed with new bodes. But so far none of them had been what Lorelai needed. Without another black-blooded grounder, her progress on replicating the serum was going nowhere. She was back to square one. Forcing down her frustration, she turned back to Cage, arms tucked tightly around herself.

“We need to move ahead with the kids.”

“But you said-“

“I know what I said.” Lorelai snapped, “But if there are any more black-blooded grounders we haven’t found them. I can’t recreate the serum until I have one.”

“My father won’t agree to using the kids.”

“So, don’t tell him. Not until after it's done. Cage, the bone marrow from the kids will work.”

“It will kill them.” Cage said and there was that uncertainty, a hesitating weakness in him that Lorelai despised so much. The president may disagree with Lorelai’s methods but he at least had never wavered in his convictions. Cage was a child in comparison, his opinion swayed by whoever spoke to him last.

“Progress requires sacrifice. Their deaths will mean we can live. 47 deaths for our entire people.”

Cage was quiet; mouth pressed tight. He nodded at Lorelai, his expression hardening “I’ll get my men to bring you one of them.”

Then he was walking off, stepping neatly over the bloody mess she had made on the harvest chamber floor. Cage paused at the hanging grounder body, watching as blood streamed out of it and through the knotted maze of tubs towards the hospital wing.

“You know,” He said, two fingers coming out to press against the grounder’s exposed stomach. “I bet the grounders know about the black blood.”

In the cages behind them, something shifted. The sound of bodies moving agitatedly against metal. It was enough. Lorelai turned towards the cage, feeling victorious as dark eyes watched her; animal-like from behind the bars. She stepped up to the nearest cage, a fingertip length outside of the grounder’s reach, and tilted her head.

The grounder in the cage was a young man; lanky with an unfinishedness about him that spoke of future growth. Not that he would ever meet that potential now. His eyes were wide, specks of colour in his bloodless face. Lorelai smiled, the grin splitting her face and exposing the neat rows of her teeth. “Tell me what you know about the black-blood.” She told him.

The grounder’s face twisted; changing from young man to savage in an instance. He leaned forward and spat. Lorelai recoiled, a noise of disgust escaping her as she rubbed the glob of spit off her face. Around them the other grounders howled, rattling on their caged door and baring their teeth.

“Are you ok?” Cage asked. He had hurried over to her, his hand coming to rest on her arm, steadying her.

“Fine.” She snarled, spinning back around to the look at the cages. The boy who had spat at her grinned; a sneering, daring expression twisting his young face. He didn’t speak but made a crude gesture with his hand, sparking another wave of laughter from the cages around them.

“You were right,” Lorelai said to Cage. Lorelai had spent so long in this room that the humans in the cages had been reduced in her mind to little more than blood bags, to something less than animals. She had forgotten that they could have other uses. “They know about the black blood.”

Cage met her eyes, his expression dark, knowing exactly what she needed. “Well then, let’s make them talk.”

He took the baton from his belt, the sizzle of electricity sparking from its ends and stepped up towards the grounder. The boy in the cage had stopped smiling, edging backwards away from the cage door.

Lorelai smiled at him, a mirror reflection of his previous sneer. “For your sake, I hope you have the information I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Hey, reaper  
> [2] Your fight is over
> 
> I love Lincoln and wasn't about to let him stay with Mount Weather. He was such an interesting character, I'm sad we didn't get to see more of him. This chapter was an excuse for an Octavia POV and for Lexa to show off her fighting skills. When she fought with Roan, Lexa used two swords so I'm going to say that her left handed fighting in this chapter is canon compliant.


	10. Chapter 10

They were late. Somehow Clarke had known they would be and the knowledge of it had curdled in her gut, growing heavier by the minute.

“Stop pacing,” Raven said, exasperated. The other girl had lowered herself against a boulder, one hand unconsciously massaging her injured leg while she played with the radio. The sudden acid fog had forced them to take shelter in their tent for a couple of hours, cowering against the dangerous weather. But their unexpected stop had allowed Raven to tap into Mount Weather’s radios. Clarke had pulled the rest of the mission at that point, deciding that the ability to listen in on their enemy outweighed the originally planned benefit of blowing up Mountain Weather’s jamming signal. Clarke was most just relieved they had found an advantage against Mount Weather. God knew they had had little luck so far; this could change things completely.

“They’re late,” Clarke responded, running her hands over her face worriedly.

“They probably got delayed by the acid fog, same as us,” Raven said distractedly. “Stop worrying, they’ll be here.”

“What if –“

“Clarke!” Bellamy’s voice was an arrow, shooting straight through the faint background noise of the forest. He was running towards them, a wildness about him, a desperation that had Clarke and Raven standing upright, tensing in anticipation. Clarke glanced behind Bellamy, swallowing when she realised he was alone.

“Bellamy, where are Lexa and Octavia?”

Bellamy skidded to stop, panting heavily. Up close he looked exhausted; his face pale and lined with dirt and tension, his shirt was soaked with sweat. 

“Bellamy.”

Bellamy held up a hand wearily, “They’re safe. But I need you to come with me: to the dropship. We need your help.”

Bellamy was already moving, walking backwards, and gesturing for them to hurry. Raven and Clarke glanced at each other warily before following the boy. Some part of Clarke knew she should make Bellamy stop, make him explain exactly what mess he was asking them to follow him into. But all Clarke could think about was getting back to Lexa. The need to see the other girl was safe outweighing her usual wariness.

* * *

The last time Clarke had been to the dropship camp the air had been filled with the smell of death, embers floating like snow around her as they had emerged nervously back into their camp. Their first earth home had been destroyed, wiped out as if it had never existed. The loss of it, the destruction of the life they had built, had been a sucker punch to the gut. A bitter aftertaste alongside the relief of survival.

It was worse now somehow. The campsite was eerily quiet; barren, bare apart from a thick, grey layer of ash that spread out in a rough circle around the crumbling dropship. Glimpses of bony remains were visible in the cinders: a hollow-eyed skull, half a rib cage. At the edge of the camp, the top half of a skeleton emerged from the ashes, arms reaching, trying to claw it’s away. Clarke bit back the impulse to gag; her skin crawling. She knew what they had done, what she had done. But Clarke had not had time to see the horror, the death she had wrought.

Raven shivered at her side, looking as sick as Clarke felt. Bellamy ran ahead of them, boots crunching through the ash carelessly as he made his way into the dropship. Clarke almost called out for him to stop, to look where he was going and the impulse made her hate herself a little. How could she demand respect for the dead she had killed?

A faint crunching noise drew Clarke’s attention and her gaze found Lexa: a distant, solitary figure stood a few feet away from the dropship. Lexa hadn’t reacted when Bellamy had returned, her green eyes continuing a slow journey around the destroyed campsite. Her hair was wild around her face once more; Clarke’s carefully arranged braids unraveling like a fallen halo. A smear of blood painted her face, a sharp line of colour that had slashed diagonally through her eyebrow and across the high arch of her cheekbone. 

Clarke felt a breath punch out of her, and she forgot Bellamy and the horror of the campsite and hurried towards the girl, feet crunching through ash. Lexa didn’t turn towards her but a green flash from between dark eyelashes showed Clarke she had been spotted. As she got closer, Clarke realised the grounder had lost her sling and her injured arm hung limply down by her side, the once white bandages dripping with black blood. She was holding her arms close to her body, shoulders coiled tight.

“You’re injured,” Clarke said, reaching out towards Lexa. Before she made contact, Lexa stepped away. She didn’t meet Clarke’s eyes as she turned, her dark hair falling like a curtain between them. Clarke watched her walk off, stung by the obvious rejection. 

Lexa could have struck her and she didn’t think it would have hurt as much.

Clarke took a step, meaning to follow the girl, only to be stopped by Raven’s hand curling tightly around her bicep.

“What – ”

“Clarke, look around you.” Raven hissed quietly. The mechanic gestured sharply at the charred, ash-covered clearing. “We’re standing on the bodies of her people.”

Clarke felt herself flinch, bile in her throat. Bellamy and Octavia must have brought Lexa here without warning, demanding her help even as they stomped over her dead. Clarke couldn’t fault the girl if she hated them. Her eyes followed Lexa’s stiff, solitary figure as she stepped carefully around the clearing. Her face was hidden behind a tangle of hair but the stiff, furious set of her shoulders told Clarke everything she needed to know.

“I should speak to her.” Clarke found herself saying aloud. “I should try to explain.”

“I don’t think you can explain this,” Raven said. Clarke wasn’t sure if Raven’s response meant that Clarke had nothing she needed to explain, if the war between their people explained itself, or if the atrocity of the scene before them was something she would never be able to justify. Clarke wondered grimly if both could be true. “She’s been blind sighted, give her some time.”

Clarke hesitated, knowing Raven was right but wanting so desperately to follow Lexa, to make things right. From the dropship, Bellamy appeared, exhausted and covered in dirt and sweat. He called her name, the sharpness of his voice belying an urgency that had Clarke turning towards him. She hesitated in the entrance to the fallen spaceship and then followed Bellamy inside.

Bellamy had warned them as they approached the dropship what had happened; that they had been attacked by reapers and Lincoln had been one of them. But hearing a story and seeing it in person was something different entirely.

The grounder was tied up, arms bound and stretched between two posts. It was a horrifying familiar scene, but instead of the stoic compliance of Lincoln’s last captivity now he raged; snarling and drooling as Clarke approached. More animal than man. More reaper that grounder.

“Mount Weather did this to him.” Clarke said thickly, “They’re making reapers out of grounders.”

Maybe, if Clarke hadn’t still been thinking about Lexa, about the girl’s rejection outside the dropship, her train of thought would have gone to her friends trapped in the mountain, wondering what evils Mount Weather might devise for them. But instead, she found herself thinking about Lexa and the snippets of information the girl had told her of her life, about Trikru. Lexa had said Mount Weather took her people, stole warriors and farmers and children. There was an added level of horror in realising that those same loved ones could have returned, twisted into monsters to take more of Lexa’s people. Clarke’s heart ached in sympathy.

“Can you help him?” Octavia asked quietly. The dark-haired girl had jack-knifed herself in the corner of the room, angled away from Lincoln, while remaining close enough to hear every scream. There was blood in her hair, a hastily scrubbed splatter across her chin and she looked exhausted, wrung out like a wet rag. Clarke made a mental note to check over the girl later.

Clarke walked around the reaper, taking in the needle marks at his neck, his dilated pupils. Lincoln twisted to meet her, a convulsion suddenly ripping through him, making his eyes roll back in his head. It passed almost as soon as it had started but sweat was forming across the man’s face, dripping down his back and there was a clammy, unhealthy pallor to his skin. On the ark, there had been plenty of alcoholics, plenty of drug users and addicts who took whatever they could get their hands on to escape the grinding, horrifying life on the spaceship. Clarke knew what withdrawal looked like. She just didn’t know how to treat it.

Bellamy leaned in close, his words low and quiet so they didn’t carry to where Octavia was scrunched up miserably. “Lexa said the grounders have tried to save the reapers before. She said they all die.”

Clarke glanced back at Lincoln, the man was seizing once more, his convulsion stronger, more violent this time. A glob of spit frothed at his mouth, dripping down his chin. In the corner of the room, Octavia let loose a small, shaky breath, not quite yet a sob.

“This is beyond me,” Clarke admitted, “I need my mother.”

“If we bring her here, we would have to tell her what we did today,” Bellamy said slowly.

“We have to tell her anyway. Raven hacked into Mount Weather’s radio feed. They released the acid fog. We need to let her know.”

* * *

In the end, it became apparent that Raven would have to go back to the camp to get Abby despite her injured leg.

Clarke needed to stay to keep an eye on grounder’s convulsions. Octavia wouldn’t leave Lincoln and while Bellamy might make it back to the camp in half the time, they all knew he wouldn’t leave Octavia behind, not when Lincoln was a danger to his sister. Surprisingly, it was Bellamy who argued that Lexa had to stay at the dropship too: the grounder had fought all three of the reapers in the underground tunnel and he wanted her close in case Lincoln got loose once more. There was grudging respect in Bellamy’s eyes as he described Lexa’s fight. That she had saved Octavia’s life had probably earned the grounder more of Bellamy’s loyalty that most of the Arkers. Not that Lexa would know that, or care.

As the hours wore on, Lincoln quieted down. His growing fever killed his fight but his pained whines were worse: insensible and tormented. Clarke found herself stealing away outside, unable to bear it.

The ash-covered campsite was dark in the fading daylight; the horrors of the drop site hidden, swallowed by shadows. It wasn’t cold but Clarke found herself shivering, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she stepped through the ash. On the far side of the clearing, Lexa was sat, perched high on a protruding rock. She was crossed legged, her hands resting on her knees, eyes closed. She looked relaxed, almost tranquil despite the grim settings and the blood and dirt covering her. She looked completely removed from the battleground around her. Clarke wanted to wander over to the girl but she found her feet glued to the floor, the space between them immeasurable, unnegotiable.

“Clarke!”

Her mother’s voice reached her long before the woman emerged into the campsite; Raven and half a dozen guards trailing after her.

“I told you to just bring my mom.” Clarke hissed at Raven, as Abby strode towards her.

“I tried! She wouldn’t listen.”

“Mom. I-“

Clarke found herself choking on her words, her face rocked to one side by the flat of her mother’s hand. She gasped, reaching up to grab her throbbing cheek. Abby’s face thunderous when Clarke looked up, her mother’s entire body quivering with anger. Behind them, Raven and the guards had stopped moving, watching awkwardly from the edge of the clearing.

“How dare you!” Abby hissed. “I told you no one was to leave the camp. You disobeyed a direct order!”

“I had to,” Clarke said back, refusing to look away. “Raven found out what was jamming our signal - ”

“Clarke, despite what you may think, you are not in charge anymore. I am the chancellor and you obey my rules.”

“But you weren’t doing anything! It’s my people trapped in Mount Weather.” Clarke argued.

“They’re my people too,” Abby shouted. She exhaled sharply, almost incoherent with anger; jerking her hands through her hair as struggled to lock down on her emotions. Her voice when she started speaking was quieter but roughed with barely contained anger. “They are my people too. But they are 47 people out of thousands and I am trying my best to keep everyone safe. You put yourself and your friends in danger. You could have gotten everyone killed! How could you be so stupid, Clarke?”

Abby stared at her; the whites of her eyes straining, wild in her face, desperate to make Clarke understand. The thing was Clarke already understood, she just didn’t agree. She steeled herself, standing taller.

“Raven was able to unscramble Mount Weather’s signal. She tapped into their feed. We can listen to our enemies.”

“Clarke-“

“No, please just listen.” Clarke begged, “I know you said we should wait. That we can’t afford a war on two fronts but Mount Weather’s signal was the same one we found on the black box from the other dropship – they caused it to crash. And now their signal is why we can’t make contact with any other ark sections. And Mom, they are causing the acid fog. We’re already fighting a war on two fronts. We just didn’t know it.”

Abby’s face was tight with unhappiness but she didn’t outright Clarke’s explanation and a tense silence strung out between them as Clarke waited for her mother to respond.

Behind them was a roar burst from the dropship, loud enough to send the roosting birds fleeing into the sky in panic. The guards snapped to attention, guns cocked and raised.

“What was that?” Abby demanded, staring wide-eyed at the dropship. She had grabbed Clarke’s hand, immediately ready to drag Clarke to safety despite her anger.

“That’s the other thing we found today.” Clarke looked at her mother beseechingly, “Mom, I need your help. Mount Weather - they’re drugging grounders, turning them into reapers. We found Lincoln but he’s not well. I think he’s going into withdrawal, he’s feverish, convulsing I need you to save him.”

“Clarke –“

“Please.” Clarke begged, “He helped us. He saved Octavia’s life. He tried to help us make peace with the grounders. He deserves our help.”

Abby hesitated. “Clarke, Lexa has to go back to her people tomorrow. I can’t help your friend, I have to be there to take her back.”

“I can take her.”

“I am not letting you go into the middle of a grounder army,” Abby said, almost scoffing at the suggestion.

“They know me. They made the deal with me. And Lexa won’t let them hurt me.” Clarke pressed. Abby’s gaze shifted again to look at Lexa, uncertain.

“It’s too dangerous,” Abby said finally.

“Mom, you need to save Lincoln.” Clarke dropped her voice, “This may be the thing we can use to trade with the grounders. I know we don’t have much else to bargain.”

Clarke found herself inwardly cringing at her words, hoping that Lexa was too far away to hear her. She knew how she must look to Lexa, standing among the charred remains of her people, she didn’t want to think how much worse it looked to be discussing using the reapers lives as bargaining chips.

Abby’s jaw locked with grudging agreement. “Ok,” she said finally.

“Thank you –“

“But you are just making the exchange. You are not there to negotiate, that’s my job - do you understand?”

Clarke grimaced, “But what if - ”

“If they want peace, then we do it properly. We set up a peace talk, we feed them, we exchange gifts. Peace is hard Clarke, to make it work you will need to get the council’s support, to have them involved. If the grounders are willing, invite them to the Ark to meet me.”

Clarke nodded furiously, relived at the confirmation that her mother was willing to make peace. That the council would work together for it. “Ok, ok.”

“And you have to take Major Byrne.”

“Mom, they’ll see Byrne as a threat.”

“I don’t care. I need to know you have someone looking after if you are going to meet with our enemy.”

Clarke went silent, knowing this wasn’t a battle she was going to win and from the twisted panic on her mother’s face, it wasn’t one she would have felt good for winning anyway.

“OK, I’ll take Major Byrne.”

Abby suddenly enfolded her into her arms, her hand skimming Clarke’s cheek apologetically. “Be safe.”

Abby turned towards the dropship, her face smoothing out, settling into calm professionalism. She straightened her back, rolled back her shoulder and walked inside.

* * *

Lexa didn’t say anything as they travelled back to the camp. She walked as far away from the rest of the group as possible, a shadow travelling alongside them in the dark, appearing and disappearing between the trees. Clarke could see it was making the guards agitated, their eyes darting at ever movement and she would have told Lexa to come closer but found her tongue swollen, motionless in her mouth.

By the time they made their way through the electric gates, Clarke was coiled tight, strumming with anxiety. She couldn’t leave things like this, not when Lexa about to leave her tomorrow.

“Lexa, wait,” Clarke called, running after the girl.

Lexa paused, a flash of green eyes watching Clarke from beneath her mane of hair. Despite her seeming calmness, Clarke found herself tensing, waiting for her to lash out. She wasn’t sure if it was her own guilt or if she picking up some barely constrained fury beneath Lexa’s calm visage.

“I –I just wanted….to take a look at your arm.” Clarke finished lamely.

For a moment Clarke half expected Lexa to tell her to go away but instead, the grounder tilted her head, gesturing for Clarke to follow her into her small medical tent.

Clarke was almost vibrating as Lexa sat herself down on her bed, extending her arm for Clarke’s access. The girl still hadn’t said anything and her face was so unreadable, so incomprehensible to Clarke.

Clarke licked her lips, hands tentative as she started to unravel Lexa’s bandages. They were soaked in dried blood, an unnatural black oil spill across the white material. Underneath, Lexa had pulled out a couple of her stitches but she was already clotting; a thick ridge of black travelling along her forearm. Clarke fumbled around the tent until she found fresh bandages. Her hands felt too hot, clumsy as she started to redress the wound, fingers wrapped around the narrow, bony width of the girl’s wrist to hold her steady.

“Look, I know you are mad at me. But I –“

“I am not angry at you.”

Clarke fell abruptly silent, her rushed, half rehearsed apology dissolving in her mouth. Lexa was staring at her, green eyes calm, clear despite the darkness.

“You’re not?” Clarke said with a frown, “But I thought – the dropship and the warriors.”

There was a twitch in Lexa’s jaw; the jumping muscle a sign that the girl had not been unaffected by what she had seen, despite her words.

“My warriors are gone,” Lexa said abruptly, a hint of familiar steel back in her voice. “They died an honourable death in battle. It is illogical to mourn.”

“Death isn’t logical,” Clarke said with a frown. “It’s normal to mourn the dead; to be sad about it. To be angry about it.”

“I said I am not angry.” Lexa snapped.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” Clarke tried. “I understand. I know what it’s like to lose people. To feel angry about what happened to them.”

There was a growing storm forming across Lexa’s face, lightning in her eyes. “Leave it alone, Clarke.”

It was a warning. And maybe if Clarke hadn’t seen the awful understanding of what had happened at the dropship playing out across Lexa's face, maybe if Clarke hadn’t spent all day twisting herself into knots worrying what Lexa was thinking, maybe if Lexa had been a stranger to her and Clarke didn’t care about her feelings she would have listened. Instead, she pressed forward.

“Lexa, I saw the way you looked today. I know it affected you.”

“What do you want from me?” Lexa asked slowly, her words wielded like a surgical blade, “Do you want me to cry, to rage at you?”

“No. I just-“

“What good does dwelling on this do, Clarke? Will it bring them back to life if I cry? Did crying over the death of your friends help anyone?”

Clarke recoiled, shaky with a sudden horrible, sickening anger. “My friends died because of your people.”

“And then you burnt of my 300 warriors alive.”

“They were sent to kill me! What was I meant to do? Let them kill them.”

“You weren’t meant to be here.” Lexa snapped, eyes flashing.

had shot to her feet and surged into Clarke’s space; her face was like a mask cracked open, a hidden fire raging beneath her skin.

“Well I am here, and I’m not sorry about it.” Clarke snarled back. She stepped close enough to Lexa that she could see the gold flecks in the girl’s eyes, close enough that if she took another half-step they would be touching, bodies pressed together. “I’m glad I landed here. I’m glad I survived. And I did that and was still able to be sad, still be upset for the people I lost along the way. It’s what makes me strong.”

Clarke had thought she understood Lexa. She had become adept at reading the carefully controlled emotions that the other girl buried beneath her impassive expressions and cool, assessing glances. She had learnt to read the amusement in the twitches of Lexa’s lips, the mocking judgement in her raised eyebrow, the suppressed anger in the jumping muscles of her jawline. But Clarke had never seen this before: an ocean of pain and fury breaking through the placid surface of Lexa’s control. It threatened to swallow them both and Clarke was so angry that she was ready to jump right into it just for the vindication of knowing she was right.

“And you know what,” Clarke continued, “I may be emotional and impatient and impulsive, and all those things you say about me. But at least I’m not a liar. At least I don’t pretend not to feel. I know seeing the dropship upset you. It should. You wouldn’t be human if it didn’t.”

Lexa’s face twisted at Clarke’s words, a flash of pain so deep it was like seeing a fault line running through the girl’s foundations.

“I have seen so much death, I have lost so many people.” Lexa spat out, her mouth working hard, struggling. “If I started to cry, I would never stop.”

“You won’t.” Clarke’s voice as low, rough with feeling. “You won’t.”

“You don’t understand.” Lexa said, “I can’t. ”

Where moments ago, their proximity had been an act of aggression as they squared up to each other, inflated by anger and frustration, now it was something different. Clarke’s hand took Lexa by the elbow, holding her close, holding her steady. They swayed closer.

“My people value strength.” Lexa’s eyes lilted half closed with exhaustion.

“This isn’t weakness Lexa,” Clarke said.

Clarke raised her hand, reaching out to cup Lexa’s cheek before she even realised what she was doing. Her calloused fingers tracing Lexa’s high strong cheekbones, her smooth skin. Electricity sparked between them. Lexa’s eyes were huge in her face, unblinking as Clarke touched her.

“It’s not a weakness to be honest about how you feel.”

Lexa’s eyes darted to Clarke’s lips at her words, desire plain on her face.

And suddenly it all made sense to Clarke.

The realisation of what was between them was a firework soaring and exploding behind Clarke’s eyes, illuminating a darkness, a confusion that Clarke had been feeling since she met Lexa. It seemed so obvious now: the lack of thought she had given Finn, the boy she supposedly still loved, the way Clarke’s thoughts had instead been filled with Lexa. Clarke had barely let Lexa out of her sight since she had come to the Arker camp. She told herself it was because she was looking after Lexa, keeping her safe, that she was doing her job. But that didn’t explain the way Clarke’s fingers itched to run through Lexa’s hair, the way her eyes lingered on every expanse of golden skin the grounder exposed, the way Clarke felt like she was on fire, nerve ending oversensitive in Lexa’s presence.

Clarke leaned closer, still reeling from her sudden realisation and filled with a desperate fire in her belly. She slid the hand that was cupping Lexa’s face to the back of the girl’s neck, fingers tangling into Lexa’s hair and dragging the grounder closer so she could press their mouths together. Lexa shuddered, an uneven breath of surprise escaping her and then she was pressing forward into Clarke, stealing space between them eagerly.

They fumbled against each other, hands grasping and tugging at clothing. Lexa’s hands rose to frame Clarke’s face, holding her firm as they kissed, her tongue tracing the edges of Clarke’s lips, demanding entry. Clarke had only ever kissed boys before and Lexa’s mouth was softer, smaller than she was expecting. It felt strange to hold someone the same size as her, to find that she could tug Lexa and have enough strength to make the girl stumble into her. Lexa kissed like she fought, all power and confidence and dominance, and for a second Clarke found herself overpowered, caught in a hurricane of sensation. A heat sparked low in Clarke’s belly, traveling down between her legs. She panted, and pressed forward, moving them backwards until Lexa’s legs hit the edge of her medical cot and her knees were forced to bend. Lexa sank down onto the bed, face titled up expectantly at Clarke.

For all her certainty when kissing, Lexa’s face as she looked up at Clarke was dominated by the bruised vulnerability shinning out from her wide, glass eyes, her usual impassive mask discarded. It was a gift Clarke realised, to be shown this. To be trusted with this side of Lexa. She lent over the girl, pushed her backwards until she was lying down across the bed, curls a wild halo around her face. Between stolen, tiny butterfly kisses, Clarke laid down next to Lexa, pressing tight into the curves and angles of grounder’s body so they could both fit on the narrow bed. She raised herself up onto her forearms so she could lean down and press another hungry, heated kiss into Lexa’s mouth, taking her time to explore the girl’s welcoming mouth, to follow the length of Lexa’s arching golden neck. Lexa’s hands were tugging at her hips, pulling them tight against her own and the sensation had both of them gasping, breaking apart finally when they needed to breathe.

Lexa stared at her, moving a loose strand of blonde hair out of Clarke’s eyes. “Krei Meizen.” [1] 

Clarke didn’t know the translation but she understood all the same and found herself tracing Lexa’s face, thumb pressing into her red, swollen mouth.

“You could stay here,” Clarke said quietly. “You could stay with me.”

Lexa’s smile was pained and instead of answering she drew Clarke down towards her, her fingers tangled into the hairs at the back of Clarke’s neck. They didn’t speak for a long time after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] so beautiful 
> 
> Clarke has building up to this for a while, lucky she got a kiss just in time for Lexa to be returned to her people. We are rapidly coming to the end of the road in terms of Lexa's stay with the Arkers. But don't worry, this story is currently planned for 22/23 chapters.
> 
> I am away for a long weekend next week (Boris' new rules permitting) so the next chapter may be a few days late. If you haven't already, subscribe to receive an update when the next chapter is updated.


	11. Chapter 11

Clarke woke with her face pressed into wild, sleep-mused curls. Her nose twitched, and she leaned away, trying to escape as sleep faded like shadows retreating from a rising sun.

Lexa was curled up on her side, her uninjured arm bent and tucked under her head. Clarke had fallen asleep with her nose pressed into Lexa’s neck; her arm thrown over the girl’s waist as if she was scared Lexa might disappear into the night without something holding her down. Clarke’s arm was still there and her fingers had crept under the girl’s t-shirt and were spayed possessively across Lexa’s taut stomach. Clarke blushed as her lecherous sleeping groping and slowly extracted her hand from Lexa’s t-shirt.

“Don’t remove it on my account,” Lexa said softly, her voice rough with sleep.

Clarke froze, “You’re awake?”

“I found my sleep plagued by nightmares.”

The upcoming exchange lay between them. It was something that they wouldn’t be able to avoid much longer but as they rested in the medical cot, curled up together, Clarke was willing to steal a few more minutes. She sighed and edged closer, pressing her chin back into Lexa’s hair; the girl smelt like the forest, crisp leaves and morning dew.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked softly. There was a long pause before Lexa responded, the tent filled only with their soft breathing.

“We burn our dead,” Lexa said finally, something fragile in her voice. “The body is temporary but the spirit is eternal. We burn the bodies to release the spirit, so that they may find a new life.”

Clarke remained silent, humming into Lexa’s neck.

“The spirit gets trapped if you don’t burn the whole body. I dreamt that there was a spirit calling my name, telling me to release them.”

“The warriors?”

“No.” Lexa was tense in her arms. “Costia. She was my … she was killed because of me. The ice nation cut off her head and left it in my bed.”

Clarke’s arms tightened around Lexa, fingers almost clawing into her skin at the shocking, unexpected horror of her story. “Lexa, I’m so, so sorry.” She whispered. The line of Lexa’s spine was rigid, immobile in Clarke’s arms.

“Three days later, the commander made peace with the Ice Nation’s Queen. There was a feast.” Lexa said, “I shook hands with Costia’s killer. I ate with them.”

Clarke couldn’t bear not seeing Lexa’s face anymore, she levered herself upright, gripping Lexa’s shoulders to roll her over. Lexa landed flat on her back, her face pale, eyes staring up at Clarke searchingly. Clarke cupped her face, heart-broken for the girl, furious on her behalf.

“They shouldn’t have asked you to do that. It was too much, too hard.”

“It wasn’t.” Lexa said firmly, her jaw tight, “It was easy. Because I knew that peace with the Ice Nation would stop a war, it would save thousands of lives. I did it willingly.”

Lexa’s eyes were locked on Clarke’s face, burning, daring her to react. It was a test of sorts, Clarke realised, this whispered secret. She swallowed, biting back her initial repulsion. Clarke knew if Lexa has told her this story a week ago, she would have reacted differently, driven by own beliefs and seeing only Lexa’s outward coldness, the easy which she suppressed her feelings for Costia. But Clarke understood the girl more now, Lexa had notions about putting aside love in order to effectively lead. But just because Lexa didn’t allow herself to act on what she felt, it didn’t mean she didn’t feel, that things didn’t affect her. Lexa spoke of Costia’s death like it was a drop into an ocean but Clarke knew it wasn’t. Costia’s death was the iceberg hidden under the calm sea of Lexa’s self-control.

Clarke leaned down, pressing her forehead against Lexa’s briefly. “You did what you needed to. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love her. It doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

“I know. I did the right thing” Lexa said, her gaze was steady but her voice was thick: a crack threatening. “But they didn’t give the rest of her body back. I couldn’t burn her. Sometimes I dream about her spirit, unable to move on. Telling me to avenge her.”

Clarke didn’t know what to say, she didn’t understand why Lexa was telling her this now, when she about to leave. Clarke pressed herself tight into Lexa’s space, wrapping herself around the girl with every limb she had as if trying to make them one being, folding Lexa into the safety, the protective spaces of her own body.

“You did what you had to,” Clarke whispered. “You did what you had to for you people.

“I always do.” Lexa breathed back faintly. “I always will.”

* * *

Despite Clarke not wanting to lose a single minute of the remaining time she had left with Lexa she had to leave the girl for a while to update the council on her mother’s plans. On her journey, she took the opportunity to swing by her mother’s empty quarters to grab a shower and some clean clothes. Raven was waiting for her she emerged, one dark knowing eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“You didn’t go back to your bed last night,” Raven said pointedly, falling into step with Clarke as she made her way back out towards the medical tent and Lexa.

“So?”

“So, I’m glad to you know you’re working hard on making sure our friends are safe,”

Clarke bristled, jolting to a stop. She spun around to face Raven, hot with anger. “You know Raven, I really don’t need this passive-aggressive bullshit right now.”

Raven looked almost apologetic, her eyes flicking down away from Clarke’s. “I know. I’m just worried.”

“Finn’s going to be –“

“Not about Finn. About you.”

Clarke gaped at her, “I’m fine.”

“Clarke, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen how you look at Lexa. And I get it, she’s great and she’s got that super sexy, could kill you with her thighs thing going on.” Raven started. Clarke blushed furiously, caught between embarrassment and jealousy that Raven had even noticed Lexa’s thighs, “But she’s not one of us.”

“She helped us.”

“I know she did. But she’s a grounder, Clarke.” Raven sighed, “What happens after today?”

Clarke faltered. Raven giving voice to her own thoughts. She had been ignoring the possibility that this could be the last time she saw Lexa, that the girl could be taken by her people and disappear back to whether she had come from. “I don’t know.” She admitted softly.

Raven touched her shoulder, a brief powerful squeeze. They didn’t talk as they made their way back to the medical tent.

Lexa and Major Byrne were waiting for Clarke. Byrne tenser than she had been in days, with her gun held tightly against her chest and Lexa holding a small bundle of clothing, scanning the horizon distractedly. Clarke raised her eyebrows at the bundle curiously.

“The clothes I was wearing when I came,” Lexa said. Her leather jacket and top had been ripped to pieces by the medical team in order to get to her wound. On the Ark everything was repurposed, nothing went to waste and Clarke supposed it was the same for the grounders. Lexa was, Clarke realised, wearing Clarke’s shirt, the Ark’s faded and peeling badge stretched out across her chest.

“Clarke could have given you a slightly better going-away present.” Raven quipped, flashing her teeth at Clarke and Lexa. “Luckily I’m here.”

The metal band Raven dropped into Lexa’s hand was dull, worn with use. Clarke found herself leaning closer, eyes straining to figure out what the girl had given her. It was, she realised, a fairly typically watch, the kind that all the guards were given complete with a compass dial and the Ark’s logo carved into the metal band.

Lexa held it gingerly, looking up at Raven and Clarke expectantly. Raven reached out, taking the watch to strap it around Lexa’s uninjured arm.

“It tells the time,” Clarke explained.

“Thank you.” Said Lexa flatly, bringing the watch closer so she could stare at the clock face.

Raven rolled her eyes, “It also has the symbol of the Ark on it. If you show that, they’ll let you back in the camp.”

Clarke swallowed, her heart skipping a beat. She realised abruptly that this was as much a gift for her as it was for Lexa. Raven glanced over at her, dark eyes shying away from Clarke’s.

“And.” Raven continued, “it has a small electric current that is triggered by sudden pressure. Just in case anyone tries to grab you again. Don’t get it wet.”

Lexa’s smile was sharp, wicked. “Thank you, Raven.”

Raven leaned over, giving Lexa a quick one-armed hug. Their embrace only lasted a second and then Raven was huffing, detangling herself with a roll of her eyes. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Raven.” Lexa said as Raven waved goodbye and limped off.

When Clarke glanced back at Lexa, the grounder was running her fingers over the gifted watch, her dark eyes locked thoughtfully on Raven’s retreating back. Clarke felt the hairs on her neck prickle, a strange uncomfortable feeling that she thought was maybe jealousy or concern.

“Ready?” Byrne asked the two girls, snapping Clarke back to their impending exchange.

The details of Lexa’s stay at their camp and the exchange had managed to become common knowledge and they left the camp under the watchful eyes of half of the Arkers. Clarke was tense as she realised people were staring, remembering vividly the way the guards had treated Lexa before Raven had intervened and the undercurrent of angry distrust they had experienced at the canteen. But the crowd were silent, murmuring lowly to each other. Some of the watching Arkers even gestured goodbye to Clarke and Lexa.

Clarke waved back awkwardly in surprise, glancing over to find Lexa impassive as always, the faint curl of her mouth the only indication she had seen.

“They have hope,” Lexa told Clarke as they were buzzed through the fence.

Clarke huffed, not entirely sure she agreed but whatever the reason for the placid crowd, she was grateful. Her mind was already preoccupied without having to think about managing the aggressive, fearful responses of her people.

Even though it was Major Byrne who was supposed to be escorting them, it was Lexa who led them, sure-footed, up through the valley and into the forest. The grounder camps were harder to spot in the daylight, their fires extinguished and Clarke didn’t see any grounders as they made their way up onto the hill but she could hear them, a low rumble of noise made by people talking and eating and moving in the trees. She swallowed, her neck pickling uneasily. At her side, Major Byrne shifted, readjusting her grip on her gun and Clarke told herself that nothing was going to happen. Lexa would not let anything happen to them.

“Lexa,” Clarke said urgently, running to catch up to the girl.

Lexa glanced at her, not slowing her pace.

“What happens next?”

“We make the exchange.”

“No, after that.” Clarke said,

Lexa’s mouth pressed together, her generous mouth crinkling. “I guess it depends on if our people decide they want war or peace.”

“We want peace. We need peace.” Clarke said, she grabbed Lexa’s arm reaching old to stop her relentless forward march. “My mother wants to talk to your commander. To make a peace deal. Will they listen.”

Lexa nodded slowly, “My people will listen.”

“And,” Clarke licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry “And will you come? To the peace talk?”

The corners of Lexa’s lips twitched; a familiar expression of amusement at Clarke’s expense that she hadn’t seen in a while. Lexa reached out, tucking a loose hair behind Clarke’s ear gently. “I will be there, Clarke.”

Clarke couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t care that Byrne was watching them or that there were probably half a dozen grounder scouts in the trees, weapons cocked on them. She grabbed at Lexa’s neck, dragging the taller girl in close and pressing their mouths together desperately. The kiss was nothing like the heated explorations of the night before. It was rough, stinging as their teeth clashed together. Lexa made a noise against her and then she was kissing back, mouth moving against Clarke’s just as desperately.

They separated breathlessly; Lexa’s mouth swollen and red against her pale face.

“Just in case.” Clarke panted and Lexa’s lips twitched. When the grounder started moving again, she glanced back Clarke, her eyes dark and heated as they peeked out from beneath the dark fan of her eyelashes.

Soon the forest peeled away, revealing a barren, uneven plane of grass and rock. At the topmost point of the grassland was the grounder camp. Unlike the Arks synthetic tents, the grounder’s temporary structures were sturdier, taller and bigger with protruding crude wooden poles. Colourful painted banners sailed lazily overhead, seperating the camp in ways that Clarke didn't understand. The camp was orderly, clear thoroughfares and paths cut between neat rows of tents. The outer tents were plain and small but grew in size and extravagance the deeper into the camp they went. At the centre of the tents sprawled a huge red and leather structure, towering over the rest of the camp, guarded by half a dozen spear-wielding warriors.

Standing between Clarke and the grounder camp was an army.

Clarke bit back her gasp, legs stumbling a little at the sight. A hundred warriors were spread out across the hill, solitary figures clad for war with spears and war paint. They were unmoving, silent but Clarke could feel their eyes on her, waiting at any moment to attack. At her side, Major Byrne shifted her gun, the movement sparking an instantaneous rumble of anger through the watching soldiers.

“Don’t,” Lexa ordered Byrne shortly, her hand coming to rest on the barrel of the gun, pushing it to face the ground. Byrne’s face was tight but she did as she was directed.

From the great red and leather tent at the centre of the grounder camp, a woman emerged and strode towards them. She was dark-skinned and tattooed, her eyes fierce, a sword swinging at her side. The warriors stood guard didn’t move but Clarke could almost see them straightening their spines, snapping to attention as the grounder prowled forward, her presence was a wildfire, burning through them.

A step behind her was a huge, scowling grounder that Clarke recognised as Nyko and held firmly in Nyko’s grip was Finn. An explosion of air left Clarke’s lungs, a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding all this time. Finn’s hands were bound, his clothes hung a little looser than Clarke rembered off his shoulders and there were dark shadows pressed deep under his eyes. But otherwise, he looked unharmed. He met Clarke’s gaze, a flood of relief passing across his face. Clarke had to clench her hands into fists and press them into her sides to stop herself from running forward.

Lexa had stopped the group just beyond the range of the nearest warriors, far enough away that they would be able to talk without being overheard by the watchful grounders. It seemed to take forever for Nyko and fierce woman to reach them, each second a lifetime as Finn was pushed and shoved stumbling forward under the watchful eyes of the army. As the dark-skinned woman came closer, Lexa called out something towards her in Trigedasleng, the only word Clarke could pick out was the name Indra. Clarke looked between Nyko and the woman, remembering that Nyko had said the leader of his village was a woman named Indra. Clarke found herself looking back at the grounder army, relieved and vaguely offended that the commander hadn’t decided to meet them in person.

Indra stopped before them. She had raised an eyebrow at Lexa’s words but her expression remained otherwise stony. Clarke wondered if this was a grounder thing - if all of them were taught at childhood to suppress any expression of emotion. Indra stood at attention, one arm folded behind her back and the other resting on the hilt of her sword. Despite Lexa’s insistence that her people wouldn’t hurt them, Clarke could feel the violence, the anger radiating from the woman. Indra’s lips curling in disdain as she replied. Clarke had picked up enough to know Skaikru meant the Arkers and she found herself tensing, shifting uneasily as the word dripped contemptuously from Indra’s lips.

“No. Breik em au.”[1] Lexa replied flatly. Clarke found herself glancing over at Lexa, recognising the imperious authority in her voice. Despite Indra’s fierce countenance, the other woman seemed unfazed by Lexa’s tone, expectant almost. Not for the first time, Clarke wondered just who Lexa was, to able to speak in such a way to the fierce grounder woman who had made the army stand to attend as she passed them.

Behind Indra, Nyko grabbed Finn, a knife in his hand. The sudden movement sent Clarke lurching forward in alarm, heart in her throat. But before she could say anything, Nyko had brought the knife down on the knotted rope between Finn’s hands, slicing open his bonds.

“Yu’s lottau, Skai skat.”[2] Nyko said gruffly and pushed Finn forward. Finn tripped, nearly falling over before he managed to get his legs under him. He glanced back at the Nyko and then carried on forward, right into Clarke’s arms.

Clarke clutched him to her, her hands gripping his neck hard enough to bruise. The last they had seen other, he was being dragged away, Clarke unable to do anything. Their romance might be over, killed by Finn's omissions and lies, and now by Clarke’s feeling for Lexa. But it didn’t mean Clarke didn’t care, it didn’t mean that the long weeks where he had been her most ardent supporter and confidant hadn’t happened. She swallowed, feeling him trembling against her.

“Are you ok?” Clarke asked, pulling away finally. Her eyes searched his face, trying to unravel some mystery from his pale, pinched expression.

Finn nodded, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“If you are done, skaikru.” Indra’s use of English did not minimise any of the contempt or impatience from her voice. Clarke glanced up, realising with a sudden lurch of feeling that Lexa was gone.

Clarke had been so focused on Finn, that she hadn’t seen Lexa walking away from her. Now the grounder was stood between Indra and Nyko. The two older grounders dwarfed Lexa, especially in their thick leathers and battle gear while all Lexa was clad in was a thin t-shirt and jeans. And yet, they reminded Clarke of dogs guarding their master than anything; hovering as close to the younger girl as they could get, eyeing Clarke and waiting for the order that they could attack.

Clarke’s stomach clenched. The space between her people and Indra’s seemed huge, unpassable. It wasn’t right, she hadn’t managed to present them with her mother’s offer. She hadn’t said goodbye. Lexa’s titled her head so she could murmur to Nyko and he nodded and peeled away, striding back towards the camp. Lexa watched him go, looking like she was one breath away from following.

“Wait,” Clarke said quickly. “Don’t go.”

Indra and Lexa watched her expectantly; Indra was stood half a step in front of the green-eyed grounder, her hand resting on her sword hilt. She looked unimpressed by Clarke’s request.

“Please, we honoured our deal. You can see we don’t want a war.” Clarke said, “We want to make peace.”

Lexa’s face was tilted away, cast half in Indra’s shadow. Her mouth moved minutely, a whisper of words into Indra’s ear. Her eyes remained locked on Clarke, burning acid fire in her face, full of something Clarke couldn’t make sense of.

Indra’s hand clenched on her sword, eyes meeting Clarke’s and narrowing. “I am listening.” She gritted out, her mouth puckering.

“My mother is the Chancellor, the leader of my people; she wants to invite you to our camp. To discuss a treaty, to try and figure out how we can live together peacefully. Please… Please can you pass our message onto your commander?”

Indra muttered a string of angry words that Clarke couldn’t understand. Before finally, Indra nodding grimly. “The commander will hear of your invitation. We will send a messenger with the Commander's repsonse.”

“Thank you.” Clarke forced herself to say, biting back her objections, her frustration. If Lexa had taught her one thing, it was patience.

“Do not thank me, Skai girl,” Indra said grimly and Clarke found her gaze sliding to Lexa. She had hoped they would have more time, that they would be able to say goodbye properly. Things were moving too quickly.

“Lexa.” She started.

“You should go, Clarke.” Lexa interrupted. The girl's face was unreadable, cold almost but Clarke knew her, knew to read the jumping movement in the dip of her throat, the slight indent between her eyebrows.

Clarke swallowed, nodding. She might not understand Lexa's sudden distance but she respected the girl enough to follow her lead, not matter how much it hurt for this to be their goodbye. Clarke blinked, her eyes suddenly stinging.

“May we meet again,” Clarke said finally, her voice thick, choked with emotion.

“May we meet again.” Lexa's voice echoed after Clarke as she turned around and led her people away.

* * *

Three small blots of colour moved uncertainly down the grassland and back into the forest.

Lexa let herself watch them silently, tracking the worn blue of Clarke’s jacket as the group picked their way through the trees. Soon, they were nothing more than specks on the horizon, fading from her view.

And with each step Clarke took away from her, Lexa stood taller.

For the past five days, Lexa had been cloaked in silence and passivity. She had stepped softly, breathed shallowly, been less. The Skaikru had seen only want she wanted them to see: a girl, a nobody. People had sneered at her, threatened her without fear of retribution. They had also hugged and kissed her without hesitation, so sure of her normalcy, of her likeness to them. It had been frustrating, exhausting, overwhelming.

Like dropping a veil, Lexa let go of it all. The girl she had been condensed herself into unravelling around her. And beneath it all, she found herself once more, a wildfire of power that roared to life. The flame inside her sang; divinity through her blood. Her teeth were sharp, biting into the soft skin of her mouth.

The night air was cold enough to burn, a line of cold fire through Lexa’s nose and throat. She breathed in. Her chest expanding, her shoulders straightening and spine stiffening. She grew, consuming more space.

When Lexa turned around, she was the Commander once more.

A ripple of movement passed through the waiting warriors, a thrill of energy as if they had felt the spark of the flame within her.

“The commander has returned!” Indra called out to them.

Her voice carried across the waiting troops, a spark of electric through them and they roared, a battle cry than left a thousand puffs of white condensation curling upwards like banners into the sky.

Indra dropped down onto one knee. Behind her, like a wave breaking, her warriors followed, leather creaking and feet shuffling. In seconds, the entire mountain of warriors were kneeling at Lexa’s feet. A thousand grown, bloodied warrior bowed down before her, devotion and loyalty and awe reflected from their faces.

Lexa smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] No Indra. Release him.
> 
> [2] You’re lucky, sky boy.
> 
> \--
> 
> Sorry for the lack of chapter last week. I was away so longer than expected with no Wi-Fi.
> 
> Lexa's mention of Costia really fed into my head canon that the grounders believe in reincarnation - I think this makes sense consideration the importance they place in the flame.
> 
> This really is the end of the first half of this story. Next chapter, we finally get Lexa' POV.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for this chapter: torture

Lexa had been five years old when she lost her parents, her home, and her future all in one afternoon.

Her mother had been Trikru, a woman better suited to scavenging than battle and her father had been born in Blue Cliff territory, a huge red-headed man who only picked up a knife when carving animals figurines from scraps of wood. Neither of them ever explained why her father had ended up in Trikru territory but Lexa was not oblivious to how they lived: a half a day’s trek from the nearest village. A village only her mother visited. Her father stayed inside when anyone came near; his hands coming to hide his warrior tattoo across his chest unintentionally. The tattoo had been burnt, leaving the mark of honour a twisted knot of white scar tissue pulling at his skin.

Like all good fathers, Lexa’s taught her how to use a slingshot and how to set an animal trap but she could see his heart wasn’t in it. He preferred teaching her to carve faces into wood, to make daisy chain crowns and to domesticate the nearby birds and squirrels until they would eat nuts directly from her palm. Her mother used to say that her father was so tall because his heart was so big and even as an adult Lexa thought there was some truth in those words.

When she was older, Lexa would learn that most of her people didn't or couldn't see the value of her father's kindness. They called him deserter, coward, weakling; the insults spat like weapons at Lexa’s back once they realised whose daughter she was. The insults made Lexa determined to prove herself a warrior, to prove her father’s detractors wrong. But they would also one day push her to find a way to stop the clan wars that forced artists to wield swords.

From her mother, Lexa learnt to read. Or rather, it was her mother that gave Lexa books – both her parents maintained that Lexa had been born knowing how to read, just another one of the many oddities they found in their green-eyed daughter.

It had become apparent early on that Lexa was not quite a normal child. She crawled too early, walked too early, she entirely bypassed baby talk, talking in full sentences with a strange adult understanding. And with speech came questions. Lexa wanted to know why the sky was blue, where the sun went at night, she wanted to know what the strange rotting metal cars were and then how they had worked, she wanted to know about the birds, about the flame, about everything. For every answer her parents gave Lexa, a dozen more questions sprang up inside her. She knew she drove them to distraction but they nurtured her curiosity instead of dampening it, leaving her with a mind that raced and hungered for answers just outside her grasp. And then Lexa had found her mother’s salvaged books. Lexa’s mother had tried to explain that for most people, reading had to be taught; that children first learnt the individual letters and then how to phonetically sound out words. For Lexa it hadn’t been like that; the words had always made sense, a whole world just waiting for her to dive into.

Her mother's favourite thing to scavenge had been things from the old world: bottles and jewellery and moth-eaten dresses. But when she realised how much of a voracious reader Lexa was turning into, she brought books as often as she could as well. And Lexa read everything; she read fiction and history books, books about gardening and geography and science. Not all of it made sense, partly because she was only five years old and partly because the world they lived in was incompatible with the ideas and concepts in her books. But the books were proof of a different, better world. And it created in Lexa an idea, a vision that she carried secretly inside herself long after she had left the safety of her parents’ home.

Lexa sometimes wondered what she would have become if her parents hadn't died.

The day it happened; they had been picking fruit. Her mother dragging them out before the watery light of the dawn had fully penetrated the forest canopy with promises of the first berries of spring. Lexa had been draped across her father’s shoulder, using his head as a pillow and lulled back to unconsciousness by the deep rumble of his voice. Her father had been so tall she felt like she could touch the stars when he carried her.

Then came the high screeching cry of the reapers. Her parents froze, their thrum of fear stirring Lexa from her slumber.

“Eli.” Her mother whispered, a hand reaching out towards Lexa’s father. Her fingers were shaking.

“Quickly, back.” Her father had said and they turned; their leisurely pace replaced by something desperate, relentless. Lexa wobbled on her father’s shoulders, jolted and bruised as he started to run. Behind them came a scream of triumph and Lexa glanced over her shoulder to see a reaper watching them from the trees, drool and chalk covering his face. His cry was a signal and a scattering of guttural shouts sounded from the surrounding trees.

Lexa’s mother sobbed; her face twisting with desperation and then came the whistle of a weapon, flying through the air at them.

It took Lexa a few long, fearful moments to realise that her mother was not with them. She had been a step behind Lexa’s father as they fled; the familiar sound of her breathing a whisper of air against Lexa’s neck. And then she was just done.

Lexa sat upright, twisting around in confusion. Far behind them, sprawled on the ground like a broken doll was her mother. The woman levered herself upright, one hand clutching at her leg where the feathered end of an arrow protruded from her thigh. She met Lexa’s gaze; her eyes full of tears.

“Nomen.” [1] Lexa cried out, hands reaching for her. The automatic movement sent her tumbling off her father’s shoulders, caught only by his quick reflexes. Her father was staring at her mother as well; his familiar happy face twisted into anguish. Around them, the whoops and animal-like screams were getting louder – predators playing with their play. Her father choked, his hands tightening around Lexa and then he started to run again.

Lexa screamed, understanding wrenching the horrified sound from deep within her.

Her father raced through the forest; their morning trek eaten up by his long legs. He moved uncaring as the snarled branches torn at their clothing, ripping through Lexa's hair and slicing open the delicate skin of her face. Her father careened to a stop suddenly, almost skidding around the bulk of a huge tree. He dropped Lexa onto the ground, nudging her into a small, rotting hole in the base of the tree’s trunk.

“Lexa, you must stay here. Stay here and don’t make a sound. No matter what. Do you understand me?”

Lexa nodded, shaking, mute with fear.

“You must stay hidden. Don’t come out for anyone.” Her father grabbed her head, pressing one desperate hard kiss to the top of her dark curls. “I’ll be right back my love.”

And then he was gone and Lexa was alone, scrunching up in the dark and shivering with cold.

Her father did not come right back.

The next time Lexa heard voices it was dark. The sound was accompanied by footsteps and a wavering torch, the flame dancing between the trees. Remembering her father’s words Lexa curled up tighter, pressing herself into rough damp bark at her back and dropping her face into her knees. Lexa was too smart to believe that just because she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. But she couldn’t help hope they would pass her by all the same. She sniffed miserably, her heart a rabbit beat against her ribs.

“Anya, wait. Did you hear that?”

A face appeared at the entrance of Lexa’s hiding space, so sudden it startled the girl, eliciting a raw, screech of terror for her lips. For a moment Lexa thought it was the reapers, that they had found her. Then her nightmare wavered; a fierce-eyed woman replacing her memories of chalk covered, drooling monsters. The woman scowled, her angular eyes and high cheekbones were intimidating, painted with dark war paint but there was softness to her features, a lanky unfinishedness to her limbs that spoke youth. A girl more than a woman.

“It’s a child,” Anya said, scowling at Lexa. “What are you doing in there?”

A sob escaped Lexa, wracking her body suddenly and the fierce-eyed girl recoiled as if Lexa’s sudden burst of emotions were a weapon she had drawn.

“The reapers. They took my mother.” Lexa said. “They were chasing us.”

A second woman appeared at Anya’s side, older with tattoos fading around her eyes. “I think this is Yanna’s girl.” She said. She held out her arms, soft as she beckoned the crying girl to her.

Lexa hesitated, distrustful of the unknown women. But she was cold and hungry and very alone and she wouldn’t have a chance against the reapers by herself. She crawled forward, out of her fox hole and into the faint dancing light of their torches, glancing up at them.

Anya hissed, the sound a whistle through her suddenly bared teeth and Lexa froze again, feeling something in the air change, a dangerous electric tension freezing her muscles. The two women were wide-eyed, the sympathetic expression dissolving into something Lexa didn’t understand as they assessed her.

Anya reached out slowly, her calloused finger running down the stinging, bloody graze on Lexa’s face. Anya’s finger when she presented it to her companion, was as black as the night sky.

“Natblida.”

* * *

Lexa let her handmaids’ fuss over her, allowing herself to be cajoled into the tub of hot water they had waiting inside the commander’s tent. The women scrubbed at her hair and skin, clucking among themselves at how skinny Lexa had become, how tired she looked: didn’t the sky people feed her they asked, half concern, half curiosity.

Lexa didn’t bother to answer them.

Most of her handmaids had been with Lexa since her ascension, chosen because they were the daughters of powerful warlords and thanes. That had been one of Titus’ ideas, a way of securing support from potentially powerful enemies. But it had been Lexa who had cultivated the handmaids’ loyalty, building up their position in Polis, sending gifts to their families. The handmaids had come to her as hostages but remained because she had made their positions desirable. 

That was something Titus often forgot, that the carrot was stronger than the stick in the long term.

“Please Heda,” Said Sonia, holding out a towel, “We will dress you.”

Lexa obeyed, stepping out of the tub and into the soft towel presented before her. Even before she had ascended, Lexa had been taken care of. The nightbloods had been served by an army of servants and serfs who bathed them and dressed them and cooked for them. They might have been the sacrificial lambs that Luna always said they were but they were prized lambs all the same. It had been a strange thing, suddenly being expected to do such mundane tasks for herself in the Ark camp. Lexa had found herself stumped, as confused as a child when she was expected to make decisions about what she wanted to eat, about how she wanted to dress. It had made Lexa feel lacking – a feeling she wasn’t used to.

“I shall braid your hair now, Heda.” Sonia said with a little bow of her head, starting to separate Lexa’s curls to begin plaiting it.

“You must teach me how you do it.” Lexa said suddenly and Sonia’s sure fingers faltered, dropping the easy rhythm.

“Yes, Heda.” The handmaid said finally. Sonia would never say no to Lexa, no matter how strange her requests were, but she couldn’t keep the confusion out of her voice. Lexa didn’t have to see their faces to know her handmaids were looking at each other with raised eyebrows trying to figure out what her request meant or what had inspired it.

Practice made it easy for Lexa to keep her face placid, but it didn’t stop the urge to roll her eyes. Being the Commander meant never being alone, always being on show. People followed her everywhere, her throne room was a revolving door for her subjects. Even in her own rooms, Lexa was surrounded by her handmaids and bodyguards. It had been lonely in the Ark camp, but there was something to be said for the anonymity she had experienced, to not having her every move, expression and request scrutinised.

“Heda.” One of the other handmaid said, bobbing before her, “The Flamekeeper is waiting outside.”

“Let him in,” Lexa said distractedly, her hair still being woven together by Sonia’s deft hands. She couldn’t help but compare it to Clarke’s clumsy braiding. Clarke wasn’t nearly as skilled as Sonia and yet Lexa found she herself missing Clarke’s tentative hands and lingering touches.

Thinking of Clarke, made her heart skip a treacherous beat. Clarke had come into Lexa’s life like a tornado, full of beauty and charisma and bravery that verged on the stupid. Lexa had known from the moment that she had appeared in the Harvest Chamber, all golden hair and madness wrapped up as daring that she was trouble. And Lexa had been right. Clarke had wormed her way beneath Lexa’s skin, burrowed herself beneath Lexa’s veneers and barriers before Lexa even realised what was happening. It had been so long since Lexa had let anyone see those parts of herself: the fault line of her pain and anger that ran through her core. Clarke didn’t even understand what she was doing, what danger she was putting them both in.

Lexa should have distanced herself, should have discouraged Clarke once she realised the girl was getting too close. But her weakness had always been pretty girls with more conviction than sense. Besides, the break Lexa had taken from being the Commander was well and truly over now, and with it would come an end to the strange and fragile thing forming between her and Clarke. Lexa didn’t lie to herself and pretend that she didn’t care, that it wouldn’t hurt – she had never shied away from facing hard truths.

“Lexa.”

Titus’ robes whispered across the carpeted floors of the Commander’s tent. Unlike everyone else in the camp, he didn’t bow or drop to his knees before her. It was a symbol of status, reserved only for the rulers of the 12 clans and the Head Flamekeeper. That he used her first name was both a nod to his closeness to Lexa and a reminder that her power was something the flamekeepers had gifted her.

“Flamekeeper,” Lexa said, still turned away and focused on her handmaids. “I was surprised to hear that you left Polis.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Lexa paused, considering Titus’s tone. The relationship between them was a delicate one, balancing power and fondness and mutual need. He was devoted to Lexa, as loyal as any of her subjects. But only so long she upheld the ideals and teachings he had taught her. Nia and Luna and the other councillors often made the mistake of underestimating Titus, seeing him as just the head of the flamekeepers. Lexa wasn’t so short-sighted; Titus was a spider at the centre of an elaborate web that he had been weaving for generations. She knew the danger he may one day pose to her. Lexa had to work hard to convince him of her plans, of a new way of thinking. 

It was either that or remove Titus and that wasn’t something she particularly wanted.

Lexa pulled away from Sonia abruptly, “That’s enough. Leave us. All of you.”

The handmaids moved quickly, recognising the tone of her voice, and filtered out the back of Lexa’s tent with cat-like steps. Lexa waited until they were gone before turning to face her flamekeeper.

Titus, for all his gifts, was not skilled in hiding his emotions and anger was burning across his face like a wildfire.

“Titus, is there something you want to say?”

Titus’ jaw worked, the man’s devotion to Lexa fighting against his anger. “You put yourself in danger, Heda. Both when you left Polis and when you let the Skaikru take you.”

“Danger is a part of a commander’s life,” Lexa replied blandly.

Titus’ nostrils flared, “If you had been killed inside the mountain or inside the Skaikru camp, the Flame could have been lost.”

Titus was not incorrect. Only Lexa and Titus knew the secret of the flame, of its decidedly un-magic source that resided at the base of her neck. Lexa would never admit it, especially not to Titus, but there had been a time while she had been captured by Mount Weather that she had thought she was going to die. Lexa had long lost her fear of death, death was a nightblood’s one certainty. But Lexa had been scared that she would cause the death of the flame. That with her death, the flame would be lost and she would be responsible for the destruction of her people.

Thankfully that had not come to pass.

Lexa pushed the thought away, pondering how to subdue her flamekeeper’s anger instead.

“It was the flame who told me to go,” Lexa said finally, watching at the ripple of shock that passed across Titus’ face.

“The other commanders?” Titus asked hesitantly, all his previous anger draining away.

Lexa’s silence was as much of an answer as Titus would get.

To carry the flame meant carrying the faint imprint of all the other commanders that had come before her. Lexa heard their voices whispering like white noise in her mind. It had been a strange thing at thirteen to find her mind full of other people. Lexa had started talking like another person, remembering things there was no way she had ever experienced. As she had grown older, it had become easier to sort out the bits of herself that were Lexa and the bits that were the other commanders. But Lexa knew she had inherited a few quirks along the way. And even though she had mastered ignoring the voices while awake, their memories still infiltrated every dream she had.

The night the Ark had fallen to the ground, Lexa’s sleep had been filled with death, of fire, of destruction – she had seen spacecrafts, seen the earth from high above the clouds, seen missiles. It was the oldest memory the commanders had ever shared with her, a warning.

Lexa had known she needed to see the sky people’s camp, she needed to know what these new invaders were capable of. She had dragged her people through four years of civil war to enforce her coalition. The last three years had been more peaceful than any her people had known: a dawning of a new age of progress. But three years was not enough time for them to recover, it was not enough time for new warriors to be trained and to replace those she lost. Lexa could not afford another war, not when her enemies might be armed with technology beyond her wildest dreams. Especially not when she knew Nia was building her armies in the north, ready to strike at any moment. Lexa could not face an outright war with Nia and she definitely couldn’t fight two powerful enemies at the same time.

But, for all the seeming power the crashed Ark and her people presented, Lexa had found Skaikru to be a weak, fragmented group. Their leadership was insecure, their council green and conflicted. The chancellor’s focus was on her daughter and there were brewing currents of dissatisfaction at her rule, not least coming from her own daughter. Then there was the Arkers lack of knowledge: they had no crops, no water, no animals. They could not hunt, could not track. Lexa did not doubt half of them would freeze in winter without intervention. The Pramheda may have sent Lexa dreams to warn her but Lexa had seen the camp, and seen only opportunities to solve some of her other problems. So, Lexa had decided that there would an alliance instead.

It had been fairly easy to turn the council away from the idea of a war, her inflated Trikru army and whispers of a cold, inhospitable winter had quenched their desire for battle. And Lexa had played her part well – acting the perfect house guest, finding ways to connect to the Arkers most valuable members. Between that and Clarke’s new evidence that Mount Weather was a real threat, Lexa was fairly certain they would be seeking out peace with the grounders. And her people would grudgingly accept, for a price of course. Lexa’s coalition would be secure and the war Skaikru wanted against Mount Weather would present Lexa with the opportunity she had been waiting for, to draw Queen Nia away from Azgeda.

“But I don’t understand, why would the flame want you to go to the Mountain?” Titus asked.

“The Mountain was unexpected,” Lexa admitted, drumming her fingers against her thigh in irritation. “It was the Skaikru camp I needed to see.”

“And did you see satisfy your curiosity?” Titus asked as chidingly as if she was a small child.

“Never,” Lexa said with a wolfish grin.

“Lexa… Heda.” Titus said finally, his use of her title a sure sign that she was worrying him. “Skaikru are dangerous. You must not get too close to them.”

Lexa raised one dark eyebrow, “Titus, you know I prefer it when you say things outright.”

Titus’s jaw muscles jumped. “Your people are worried – you came back to us dressed like them. You released the skaikru boy with no punishment. You agreed to talk to their leader, to discuss a truce. And there are reports that you have formed a close relationship with their leader’s daughter.”

“And…”

“Skaikru are not our allies. They owe us blood for the destruction they have caused. You cannot deny your people this, it will make people think you are weak.”

“Have I not done enough to earn the loyalty of my people yet?” Lexa asked coolly. When she had been young her anger had been a fire, but emotional outbursts made people easy to manipulate, to predict. Now her anger was ice, a thick layer of burning cold settling over her skin.

Titus remained silent, wary as Lexa stalked through the tent, her cloak sweeping out like a bloodied war banner behind her. 

“People are fickle.” He said finally, gently.

“Their opinions of their leaders certainly seem to be if what you say is true.” Lexa shot back sharply, her arms held tight at the small of her back. She didn’t look at him, her gaze instead on the crudely drawn maps of the Skaikru camp, little red flags marking where their soldiers patrolled. 

Behind her, Titus shifted his long robes a nervous crinkle against the floor.

“I have never lied to you. I only meant to counsel you against this danger. It could destroy you.”

“I remember you counselling me against the idea of a coalition for similar reasons.” Lexa pointed out, glancing over the sharp ridge of her shoulder. Titus’ mouth twisted sourly.

“But Skaikru are not grounders. And there are rumours that your leniency towards the Skaikru is because of your romantic feelings for this blonde girl.” He said finally.

“You have been spying on me,” Lexa said flatly, turning to face him.

She knew of course that Titus has his spies watching her, she had spies watching him right back. It was just the way things were. But to hear that he had seen her with Clarke, that he had seen their intimacy made Lexa's stomach twist. She couldn’t help but think back to how Titus had been when Lexa had been with Costia, how much he had judged and guilted her for every stolen moment.

“Please Lexa, remember my teaching, it is dangerous to form these types of attachments. Love is a weakness, especially when you love our enemies. You must remember what happened to…”

“Don’t you dare say her name!” Lexa snarled, mouth twisting in anger. “You will not use her to manipulate me. Am I clear Titus?”

Titus nodded; eyebrows drawn up into the middle of his forehead. He tried to meet her eyes but failed, his gaze dropping deferentially to the floor. “My apologies Heda, I did not mean to offend.”

“You meant to anger me. And you succeeded.” Lexa summarised. She dropped into her throne, drumming her fingers against the wood; she coiled up her anger into a tight ball and forced it deep down into the pit of her stomach.

For all Titus’ inflammatory words, he was not cruel for the sake of being cruel. But Titus, no matter how insightful he could be, was also short-sighted, limited in his vision. He could only see Skaikru, he only saw the parallels between Clarke and Costia and the danger that Costia had put Lexa and her coalition in. What Titus didn’t see, what no one else but Lexa saw, were the rewards that an alliance with the Skaikru could result in. Their technology could change how her people lived and travelled and communicated. Lexa had brought together her people, she had changed the world once, she could do it again. She could make things better. She just needed to sort out the impending threat that was Nia first.

And Nia was another thing only Lexa saw. Lexa had not told anyone of the slow spinning threads she had been weaving around Nia since Costia’s head had been laid like a bloody prize on her pillows. But they would see soon enough, Lexa’s plans were near fruition. Soon Titus would see how Skaikru and Azgeda and the Mountain were all tied, how she had woven their fates together. But not yet.

Lexa sighed, “Titus, have I been a good commander?”

Titus jolted, surprised by the question. “Of course, Heda.” He looked up at, his dark eyes burning with sincerity, “You are the best commander I have ever served under.”

“Then trust me with Skaikru.” Lexa said, “I have seen their weapons, this is a war we do not want to engage with.”

Titus made a noise of understanding. “But they destroyed a village, they killed Anya’s warriors. Blood must have blood. Your people will demand it.”

“They will get their reparation. But it will be a different form of blood payment.”

Titus shook his head warily, “Not everyone will be happy. Trikru especially.”

“They can change. We can change.” Lexa drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair, “Our people have been fighting for so long. Are they not tired of war, of blood?”

“War is all your people know, Lexa.”

“Then I will show them something new.”

* * *

The screams of the grounder had long since faded. Prolonged pain had reduced his cries to animalistic whimpering and gasps as he choked on his own blood and snot.

Lorelai glanced over at the mess Cage had made of the boy, her nose wrinkling in distaste. The boy's once attractive face was swollen, covered in blood and sweat and weeping wounds. Tears leaked out from between his swollen, disfigured eyelids. The rest of his body wasn’t much better. Cage had started by pulling the boy’s nails out and finished by breaking his fingers. The grounder had cried hardest at that, not from the pain Lorelai realised, but because he knew he would never hold a sword again. Still, for all his tears, the grounder refused to answer their questions. It was almost enough to make Lorelai believe he truly did know nothing about the black blood.

“One more time,” Cage growled, running a blade across the grounder’s face. It had been surprising how unwaveringly Cage had taken to his task, never flinching from the horrors he was inflicting on the grounder. Even Lorelai had found herself turning away, stomach twisting at the sight. But not Cage. It made her feel wary, uncertain. She thought she knew him, understood his petty jealous, self-doubting motivations but this sadism was unexpected, worrying.

The boy couldn’t see from between his swollen eyelids but he still managed to turn his head towards Cage, uncaring as the blade dug into his cheekbone. “Slip daun, Joka.”[2] The grounder spat out, his voice a faint, contemptuous rasp.

Cage’s face scrunched up, his mouth twisting into a sneer and he slashed his blade hard to right, drawing another vivid, painful line through the grounder’s skin. The boy cried out, new tears forced out from between his swollen, red eyes. Cage raised his blade again.

“Stop,” Lorelai said, reaching out to grab the man’s arm. Cage’s arm hovered in the air, poised in waiting. “This isn’t working, you’ll kill him before he talks.”

“There are plenty more grounders we can try after him.” Cage said. Up close Lorelai could see Cage wasn’t as unaffected by his work as she had suspected, he looked unravelled, sweat-soaked and wild-eyed.

“I have another idea. I know what we need to make him talk.” Lorelai took the blade from Cage’s hands, wiping it clean on a rag and laying it down on the table behind her. “Come with me, we’re going to need something.”

The something Lorelai was talking about turned out to be another grounder. A woman with tawny hair and sharp, angular features. This grounder had been found with the Ark kids; the only grounder Clarke Griffin had left alive. The Harvest Chamber security tapes also show her cage was the one Clarke first stopped at. At first, Lorelai thought it a coincident, that Clarke’s decision to take the black blooded grounder was unrelated. But she now realised this grounder had told Clarke to take the other girl.

If anyone knew about the black blood, it was this grounder.

“Anya.” The grounder boy cried out as Cage dragged the grounder onto the second operating table.

The tawny-haired woman, Anya, was weak from blood loss and a lack of nutrients but she put up more of a fight that Lorelai was expecting, straining and wriggling out of Cage’s hands like a snake. Her face twisted, teeth flashing at Lorelai warningly

“Strap her down,” Lorelai ordered Cage and picked up the knife.

Cage cursed suddenly and Lorelai turned to find him clutching at his left hand, blood seeping from the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “She bit me!” Cage said indignant, holding up his wound for inspection.

Strapped to the operating table, Anya sneered from between her tangle of hair. Her teeth were red, dripping with blood. Lorelai raised an eyebrow. Unlike the boy on the table, Anya was fully grown, a warrior trained and bloodied. Any weakness or softness had long been burnt out of her. Cage wouldn’t be able to make this one scream.

Lorelai rolled her eyes at Cage’s indignant face and handed him the knife.

She turned to the boy, tugging his face gently to the side so he could stare at Anya. “Do you see her?” she asked him, smoothing the sweaty, bloody curls off his face. “Here is what is going to happen: for every question you don’t answer, I’m going to cut off one of her fingers. When she has no fingers left, I’ll cut off her heard. And then we’ll bring another one of your little friends here. And another. As many as we need until you talk. Do you understand?”

The boy had started sobbing, ugly fat tears pouring out from between his swollen eyelids silently. He shook his head, mouth twisting miserably. Lorelai rested her hand around his bruised jaw, forcing him to look at her.

“Tell me where there are other grounders with black blood.”

Anya shouted something, a harsh commander that had the boy flinching away. He sobbed but scrunched up his eyes and mouth.

Lorelai turned to look at Cage and Anya. “Start with her left hand.”

Anya was tough, brave. She snarled more than screamed as Cage sawed his knife through the bone of her little finger. It did little to comfort the boy on the table however and he flinched with every cry that escaped the woman’s snarling mouth. Finally, Cage stopped sawing and the room went quiet save for Anya’s choked panting and the boy’s sobbing.

“Nine to go,” Lorelai told the boy, taking him once again by the chin. “How many black bloods are there?”

The boy was colourless, almost completely detached from the horror around him but still, he remained silent. Cage took a second finger off Anya and this time the woman couldn’t hold back her screams. She cursed and sobbed and cried with each stomach curdling slice of the knife. Lorelai would guess that by the fourth she might start begging them.

The boy was crying even harder than Anya, whimpering like a small child.

“You know, we probably won’t get to ten fingers.” Lorelai told him, “The blood loss will likely kill her before then.” She stepped to the side, so the boy could see the gory remains of Anya’s left hand, the blood soaking through her rags and pooling onto the metal table beneath her.

“Please, please stop.” The boy said, voice cracking.

“Shof Op.” [3] Anya snarled across the room, straining against her restraints. Cage pushed her backwards, and her eyes went wild, animal-like as he grabbed her hand once again.

“No, this time take one from her right hand,” Lorelai told him and Anya released another stream of frantic, violent curses at them, her anger unable to disguise her fear. The boy heard it too and he flinched, trying to curl himself inwards, away from the scene.

Lorelai didn’t let him, forcing him to look at Anya, at the knife pressing in readiness into her right forefinger. Cage’s blade was slick, coated in blood already.

“Tell me why some of you have black blood.”

Cage knife cut through the first layer of Anya's skin slowly, sawing. Anya screamed.

“They are nitblida.”

Lorelai raised her hand and Cage stopped cutting, using his free hand to muffle the protests coming from Anya.

“Go on.”

The boy hiccuped weakly, “Please, please stop hurting her.”

“If you tell me what I want to hear, we won’t hurt her at all.”

“And you’ll treat her hand.”

Lorelai’s eyes narrowed, not expecting the boy to be this coherent. But she was so close to getting what she desired. “I promise.” 

And to show him she was being honest, she went over to the Anya and pressed gaze into her bleeding stumps, dragging the woman’s arm over her head to elevate it. “Hold it here, tight.” She told Cage and went back to the boy.

“Now tell me, what are the nitblida?”

“Nitblida are special, it means they can carry the flame.” The boy rasped out. Lorelai raised an eyebrow at him in frustration, ignorant to what the flame.

“The flame?”

“The person who carries the flame is Heda. The commander.”

Lorelai startled and from across the room Cage had a similar reaction. She purposefully didn’t look at him, but she could hear Anya screaming into the rag Cage had forced in her mouth, furious.

Mount Weather knew a little of the grounder’s culture, snippets picked up from observing their enemies and from the strange deal they had formed with the Grounder who called herself Queen Nia. The commander she knew was the leader of the grounder clans. But it was a title passed seeming without logic and the commanders came and went quickly. The only commanders of any note, as far as Lorelai could see, was the commander who had brought his army a little too close to Mount Weather fifty years ago and had forced Mount Weather to release their missile. And now, this newest commander. This one had Queen Nia spooked. The old queen spoke of the alliance the new commander had created – a coalition of twelve clans. That bit of information had left both Cage and his father pacing the council chambers worriedly, half expecting an army to appear on the horizon. But none had ever come.

“The nitblida are possible candidates for the next commander,” Lorelai stated, understanding finally the strange selection process for the grounder’s commander.

“They are rare, maybe a one or two born every year.” The boy forced out, and Lorelai ground her teeth, biting back her eagerness.

“And how I can find them.”

The boy looked at her straight on then, his swollen distorted face managing to look victorious, mocking. “You can’t. All nitblida are taken to Polis. It’s two days walk from here and they are guarded by a city and an army build to protect them. You would never be able to reach them.”

Lorelai curled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms in fury. The boy was right; Polis was too far for their reapers and too far to send a team. The black bloods were out of her reach. For now.

She turned on heel and stormed out the room, making it halfway down the corridor before Cage caught up to her. He called her name, grabbing at her elbow to stop her when she refused to listen to him. His hands were coated in blood and he left a vivid, wet handprint on her white lab jacket.

“Wait, wait. You can’t just give up.” He started.

“I’m not giving up,” Lorelai said back, feeling cold, focused with purpose. Cage stared at her uncertainty. “We can’t get to the nightbloods in Polis, but there is one who isn’t in the Polis.”

Cage blinked in understanding. “The grounder who escaped with Clarke.”

“I just need one of them. She can’t have gotten far, especially not if she stuck with Clarke. I need to find her and bring her back.” Lorelai said, staring eagerly up at Cage, “And in the meantime, we start taking the bone marrow from the kids. We can cure our soldiers, make an army that can go to Polis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Mother  
> [1] Go Die, fucker.  
> [2] shut up
> 
> Finally Lexa's POV. Lexa's POV was meant to last for 1 chapter, but then Titus came in and so there a second Lexa's POV next chapter. Titus was another one of those deeply undeveloped characters in the show. In my version, the flamekeepers hold a lot of power and before Lexa united the clans were one of the few groups that could travel between clans. So Lexa has to mindful of the power they have.
> 
> This was easily the hardest chapter to write. Lexa's POV was complicated enough and then is a lot of exposition here regarding Lexa's plans and her relationships with the other grounders. Hopefully you liked it!


	13. Chapter 13

Costia hadn’t been a princess. 

She had royal blood. But she had been a bastard, begotten from Nia’s lecherous, drunken brother and a no-named serf. Nia guarded her throne and her son’s claim to it like a lion and most of her unlucky nieces and nephews had met early deaths before they ever had a chance to think about claiming it as their own.

Costia wasn’t sure what had made her different in the Queen’s eyes. She had told Lexa that it was probably because she had been so mousy and pitiful that Nia had known she would never have to fear her betrayal. Lexa suspected it was more likely that Nia had seen the bright spark of intelligence in the little Azgeda girl and thought she could capture it, mould the spark into a weapon against her enemies. But Costia would never be a weapon, Lexa had never met someone so soft, so un-war like. Sometimes she wondered if the girl really came from fierce Azegda. It seemed almost unimaginable.

It was through Costia that Lexa first met Roan. Queen Nia and her son had been there for the conclave of course; their sharp, cat-like features striking in the crowd. Luna has said she could barely stand to look at them – whether in fear or disgust she didn’t clarify. But Lexa couldn’t look away, desperately trying to find something of the soft trainee flamekeeper in their angular, warlike faces. She didn’t see any resemblance, not at that moment anyway.

After Lexa won the conclave, after the ascension ceremony and the celebratory feasts and the solemn funeral pyres for the night bloods she had killed, Costia finally came to her. And with her, was Roan. The young prince was a man grown, towering over the barely teenage girls. But whereas from a distance all Lexa had seen were his sharp eyes and cheekbones, up close she could see the unmarred smoothness of his skin, a threat of softness at his mouth.

They had not spoken much. Lexa’s mind had been in turmoil, strained under the sudden weight of the flame, of the voices in her head, and the horrifying sinking realisation that she had killed the other night bloods. She had felt both horribly alone and tormented by the understanding that the commander was never alone, not when they carried the flame.

But for all her distraction, Lexa had seen the fondness Roan held for Costia, the careful way he spoke to the young girl. Beneath his fierce exterior, he shared with his cousin a thread of something genuine, something empathetic and tender. It would, Lexa realised, be the end of him if Nia ever saw it. The Ice queen saw such traits as weakness and while she might allow it in her bastard niece, she would never suffer it in her son. Nia would probably succeed in sculpting Roan into a version of herself: brutal and ruthless and cruel. But Lexa couldn’t help but hope that the Ice Queen would fail.

The memory of their first meeting played behind Lexa’s eyes as she walked through her camp, threads of plots and plans plucking at her attention. She could feel her soldiers watching her, trying not to outright stare as she strode through the camp. Lexa had allowed herself to be washed and dressed and fed. She had even allowed Titus to rant at her and greeted her warlords. But after half a day, she was tired of reassuring her people and impatient to keep her plots moving.

Lexa came to a stop at the farthest tent in the Trikru camp, pushing back the covering.

The small tent was dark, the smell of an unwashed body oppressive as Lexa’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light. On his knees, tied by the wrists and ankles was the banished Azgeda prince. He looked up at her from beneath the greasy tendrils of his hair, pain and weariness doing nothing to lessen the sharpness of his glare. Lexa waited but other than his glare, he didn’t acknowledge her.

“Hello Roan,” Lexa said finally, sitting down on the small stool that had been left in the tent.

She swept her cloak out behind her and Roan’s eyes followed the motion of the dramatic red material. The prince remained stubbornly silent and Lexa felt her lips twitch. Keeping silent in the face of her adversaries, sometimes even her allies, was a tactic Lexa employed often. People filled silences; they couldn’t help it, impatient and uncomfortable. Roan was probably the only person who could outwait Lexa. And on any other day, she might have put that theory to the test but Lexa didn’t have time for games, not of that sort anyway.

“Don’t you think you should greet your commander?”

“I am an exile,” Roan said finally, his voice raspy with dehydration. “My clan and your coalition do not recognise me. So, I do not recognise you.”

“And yet here you are,” Lexa retorted coldly.

“I presume it means you have found another use for me, other than using me to torment my mother.”

Lexa snorted, “We both know, Nia hasn’t lost a single second of sleeping worrying about you.”

Roan went silent again, Lexa’s barb finding its mark. Lexa waited and time spun out between them like toffee, thick and sluggish.

“I am tired, Heda.” Roan said finally, Lexa’s title like an insult on his tongue, “Tell me what you want.”

Lexa leaned backwards, “I want peace.”

Roan snorted; eyes narrowed and arms straining against his tight bonds. “This is not an act of peace.”

Lexa raised a shoulder in easy acceptance, “No, I suppose not.”

She plucked a sharp knife from her belt. Roan held his breath, his eyes following her warily as she reached out towards him, her knife gleaming in the dark. The blade sliced through the ties around his hands, sawing through the tough rope. Then Lexa put the knife back into her belt and sank back down onto her stool.

Roan’s dark shark eyes remained on her, narrowed with suspicion. Lexa was relaxed, waiting for him to make his move. Roan was a formidable fighter but his feet were tied, he weapon-less and he was weak and dehydrated from days tied up. If he lunged at her, Lexa could easily put him down. But he wouldn’t, Roan was too smart and too curious to try and make a move now before he had figured out what Lexa was after.

“A big gesture, lessened by the days I have spent tied up like an animal in this tent,” Roan said finally, stretching out his arms and flexing his wrists. The ropes had dug deep into his flesh and his skin was pink and tender looking. It must have hurt, not that Roan would ever admit it.

“Well, it took me longer than expected to visit you,” Lexa replied. “I was captured by the Mountain and then I enjoyed a extend stay in the Skaikru camp.”

Roan rubbed at his wrists, looking purposefully disinterested. “I still don’t see why you wanted to see me.”

“The Mountain knew I was coming; they were waiting for me with an ambush.”

Roan went still, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip: a fraction of movement that betrayed his sudden wary understanding. Lexa found herself thinking of Costia, the gesture was similar to the lip-biting the Azgeda girl had often engaged in when she was deep in thought, or when she was worried.

“I guess even the great commander can be taken by surprise,” Roan said finally, an edge of mocking.

“Your mother had a long-standing arrangement with the Mountain, she provides them with grounders and they leave the rest of her people alone. I suppose she couldn’t resist trying the same trick with me.” Lexa stated coldly and Roan tensed, the slight movement of his forehead giving him away.

For all Lexa had decided on entering the tent that she was not interested in playing games, this was exactly what she and Roan were doing. It was the only game they ever played together – one of information and bluffing and lying about what you did and did not know and using it as currency to scrap power and influence.

The person who knew the most was the winner. Usually anyway.

Roan, as Nia’s son, would have known about the deal Nia had the Mountain. He would have known that she used the Mountain to get rid of her enemies. But he had been gone from Nia’s side a long time and it was unlikely he knew his mother had sold Lexa to Mount Weather. It was even less likely that he knew that Lexa had been aware of Nia’s deal with the Mountain for years.

Lexa leaned forward at the frozen, wary look of Roan’s face; a shark drawn to blood. “Queen Nia has her spies and I have mine.” She said in answer to his unspoken question. “I know she sold me to the Mountain.”

“And yet you escaped,” Roan said finally.

“And yet I escaped,” Lexa repeated, her smirk all teeth. “I bet she was incandescent with rage when she heard that.”

Roan’s thin mouth quirked upwards slightly; for a second, they shared a smile imagining Nia’s anger. He broke their gaze, eyes travelling to the sharp knife in Lexa’s belt. “And this is why I am here? To bear the punishment for my mother’s action.”

“Roan, if I wanted to punish you in place of your mother, I would have seen you killed not exiled.”

The muscles in Roan’s face jumped as the muted reference to Costia’s death. It was a small movement, almost indistinguishable if you weren’t looking for it. But Lexa had been waiting for it and she felt vindication burn up through her. Roan had been fond of Costia, he had cared for her, liked her. Lexa had been too angry, too hurt when Costia was murdered to think of anyone’s else pain but her own. But now Lexa could imagine what it had cost the prince to behead his favourite cousin. Some part of her was glad it was a price he was still paying, she hoped it still hurt.

Nia would never have flinched at the murder of her niece. Roan’s flinch proved Lexa right; he was not his mother despite the Ice Queen’s efforts. Lexa wondered vaguely if Costia’s murder had been Queen Nia’s way of punishing Roan as well as Lexa.

“Then why am I here, Heda?” Roan asked finally, voice gruff with emotion.

Lexa ignored his question.

“Tomorrow I will ally with the Skaikru to fight the Mountain and the clans will be called to war.” Lexa leaned forward, “There are only two reasons why your mother would leave Azgeda: the conclave...” Lexa started

“Or war.” Roan looked at her, understanding in his eyes. “You mean to use the war with the Mountain to draw my mother and her army away from Azgeda?”

Lexa smiled, strangely pleased to be understood.

In Azgeda Nia was all but untouchable. She was a spider, sat safely in the centre of her web, while she sent out assassins and made alliances with Mount Weather. Lexa had been waiting for an opportunity to draw her out of her capital for a while. The alliance with Skaikru, the war against the Mountain would do that. Not because Nia wanted to help but because she was part of Lexa’s coalition; calling the clans to war was Lexa’s right as the commander. Nia would come, she wouldn’t risk outright betrayal of the coalition, not yet anyway. And besides, Lexa suspected she wouldn’t be able to stay away. She knew about Lexa’s stay in the mountain and the Skaikru camp, she would think Lexa might be weak, vulnerable.

“Unless Nia wants to risk breaking the terms of the coalition and revealing her alliance with the Mountain, she will come to support our fight against them.”

Roan was silent, staring at her suspiciously. The Ice Queen had an army three times the size of any other clans’ forces. He didn’t think Lexa would not risk a confrontation but couldn’t quite see why Lexa wanted to bring the queen closer to her side if not to fight her. His eyes searched her face, trying to figure out what Lexa’s plans were.

“Why? Why bring the Queen of Azgeda and her army to your doorstep?”

Lexa stood up then, hands behind her back as she stared down at Roan. In the back of her mind, the commanders whispered, warning her, berating her for her trickery. She looked down at the man, finding herself reflecting in his dark, lightless shark eyes.

“Roan, do you ever wonder why you are still alive? Why I have not found a way to kill you for bringing me Costia’s head. You know I could have killed you a million times over.”

“I do not presume to understand the workings of your mind, Heda.” Roan retorted sharply; his jaw clenched, throw by her sudden change of direction.

“You’re alive because I know you care for your people. I knew you cared for Costia.” ‘Unlike Nia’ remained unsaid between them.

At the mention of Costia, Roan’s face had gone blank and tight, like material stretched too taut to be comfortable. Sometimes he reminded Lexa of scar tissues, beaten and cut so deep he had hardened into something smooth and tough. The Azgedan’s saw scars as marks of honour, of overcoming. But they forgot that scars could hurt long after the initial pain, that the damage beneath the surface could linger. Lexa didn’t forget that; she knew where to press to make old injuries feel new again. 

Lexa met Roan’s gaze. A secret lingered sweetly on her tongue and she savoured it, anticipating the reaction it would inspire. “I know you care for all those political exiles who fled from Nia’s court. I know you shelter them”

Roan jolted. “how did –“

Lexa raised an eyebrow, mocking Roan’s assumption that he thought he could operate outside of her notice. Especially not, when it had been Lexa’s idea all along. “Who do you think kept stirring things up in Azgeda, who do you think asked the Lake people to give you sanctuary? Who do you think have been funding your little group of exiles?”

Roan went quiet, staring at her. Anyone else would be gapping, staring wide-eyed in disbelief at Lexa’s abrupt revelation but Roan was quicker on the uptake than most. Lexa could see the prince’s mind racing, fitting the puzzle pieces together. Lexa had known since Costia’s murder that she would dispose of Nia, but she couldn’t outright fight the woman. Not without risking her coalition. Instead, Lexa had been sowing seeds of discontent through Azgeda for years; presenting Nia with a constant cycle of warlords and politicians and merchants who dared to vocally oppose her. Nia had probably figured out that Lexa was behind it, but what the Queen didn’t realise was that the opponents weren’t for her, they were for Roan.

Most of Nia’s opponents had been forced to flee Azgeda before Nia decided to solve their discontent once and for and they ran right into Roan’s waiting arms. Roan had made a secret base for all the Azgeda exiles in the Lake people’s territory, finding a sympathetic warlord living on the border who was willing to keep their secret from Nia and Lexa. Or so he promised. In reality, Lexa had been paying the Lake Warlord off for years. And now the little group of exiles was a thriving community of disposed Azgeda warriors and powerful figures, ready to fight against their unfair queen.

“You created yourself a secret army.”

“They’re no army.” Lexa retorted coolly, “But they are loyal to you. And you are the rightful prince of Azgeda.”

“Banished.”

“At my leisure. I can reverse it at any time.”

Roan went quiet, clever mind connecting the dots. “You want me to take over Azgeda.”

“You want to take over Azgeda.” Lexa corrected. “You know your mother’s cruelty. You know if she found out you have been sheltering her enemies, she would never forgive you.”

There was a pause in their conversation, a silence while Roan digested the soft threat beneath Lexa’s words. Because if Roan refused to help Lexa, she would have no need to shelter him from his mother anymore and they both knew that unlike Lexa, Nia would not have the self-control to keep Roan alive until he became of use again. Not after this betrayal.

“While Nia and her army march here, she leaves her capital vulnerable. The path to Troy is clear. You only need a couple of hundred men to take the city.”[1]

Roan shook his head slightly. “It is impossible. Even if this mad plan works, my mother is still a Queen. She still has an army and when she finds out what I have done, she will come back take the capital back.”

“Your mother is going to betray me and the coalition.” Lexa stated flatly, “She won’t be able to help herself. As for her army, I have some thoughts on how to reduce that force.”

Roan looked at her questioningly and Lexa rolled her eyes, realising that she would not be able to get his agreement until he knew that she could reduce his mother’s armies. “Mount Weather have missiles. When they see the coalition between the Skaikru and my coalition, they will prepare to use them.”

Roan was silent once more, digesting her words. Lexa hadn’t been alive when Mount Weather released their missile. But she had the memories of the commander who had seen the attack, she knew the noise, the heat of the missile as if she had lived through it herself. She understood better than anyone the destruction capabilities of Mount Weather and their limitations. This war with Mount Weather was not just a way of drawing Nia away from Troy, but a way of reducing her army.

“And you think you can manipulate the mountain into using their weapons on the Azgeda army?”

“I think I can manipulate most people into doing anything I want,” Lexa said and there must have something in her face, something dangerous because Roan leaned backwards, his dark eyes searching her face contemplatively.

“And how do you know the people will accept my claim to the throne. They will know I am your figurehead. What plan have you for that?” Roan asked finally, almost curious for her response. Lexa found herself smiling. She wondered if in another world she and Roan would have been friends; if their shared intellect and admiration for each other’s quick thinking would have brought them together.

“Your people have been suffering failed harvests for three years.” Lexa explained finally, “I think when they see the first fruitful harvest, they will accept your reign as a good thing.”

“You control nature now?”

“No, but I will stop salting your fields.”

Roan didn’t startle this time. But from the way his eyebrows shot up into his hairline he hadn’t been expecting her answer, “You have been salting our fields.” He repeated.

Lexa stared back at him unflinchingly. And this was the second way she had been disrupting Nia’s reign. What Nia rarely like to acknowledge, what few leaders like to recognise, was that their power was never divine or blood given, it was due to popular consensus. The serfs and the farmers and the peasants that Nia thought beneath her notice made up the majority of the Azgeda population, vastly outstripping even the number in her armies. Farmers might not have swords but they have scythes, they had blades and if they were unhappy enough, ill-treated enough they would rise-up and dispose of their ruler. And Lexa had been making sure that Azgeda was unhappy. Nia’s people were hungry, their crops failed and they had been relying on the generosity of Lexa’s coalition for half a decade now. They would support Roan if they found they had bellies full of food once more.

“How long have you been planning this? How long have you been plotting to dispose of my mother?” Roan asked, looking at Lexa like he was seeing her for the first time.

“Since the day she killed Costia.” Lexa admitted, her mouth curling involuntary in anger, “She took her from me and I promised myself I would take everything from her in return”

“And this alliance with the Skaikru to fight the mountain?”

“I have been waiting for an opportunity to draw your mother and her armies out of Azgeda.”

Roan's dark eyes reflected Lexa’s face back at her; a dark blank mirror for her own hungry, predatory gaze. “Do you even care about this war with the mountain?” He asked finally.

Lexa shrugged, “We have weathered the Mountain men for a hundred years. Nothing has changed.”

It was the most honest Lexa had been with anyone recently. Clarke was focused on saving 40 of her people, willing to go to war, to anything to ensure their safety. But it wasn’t the same for Lexa. She had hundreds of thousands of people to think about, she knew the destructive powers of Mount Weather, how they might retaliate. The alliance with Skaikru gave her leverage, a new weapon against the Mountain. But Lexa’s primary reason for a war with Mount Weather was not Skaikru or even her own trapped people. It was to dispose of Nia.

Roan grimaced all teeth and danger, “My mother thinks you cold, thinks that didn’t care about Costia or her death. But you have been nursing your anger like a secret poison. You are a snake waiting to strike, to claim your vengeance.”

Lexa leant closer. “And I will have it.”

* * *

There was a shuffle of movement from the front of Lexa’s tent, the noise prompting her to uncurl from where she had been bent over her maps. Roan was at her side, tracing the route he would be taking towards Troy and his throne.

The new occupants of her tent breathed in sharply at the sight of the two of them and Lexa turned to see Indra, Nyko and Gustus stood in the entryway, watching them judgingly. Indra’s hand was curled around the hilt of her sword, her dark eyes narrowed and dangerous as she took in the distance between Roan and Lexa. It had been Indra and her people who had found and captured Roan, but obviously, the woman had not expected it to be for this reason.

Stood like a shadow behind her shoulder, Lexa could feel Roan’s dark amusement. He was not someone to toy with people, but he was no doubt enjoyed seeing his capturer taken aback by Lexa’s sudden favour. Lexa couldn’t fault him for him, she would have too.

“Prince Roan was just discussing his route for his upcoming journey.”

Gustus’s face was impassive, but Indra’s eyebrows shot up, not missing the title Lexa has bestowed upon on him. Lexa wouldn’t announce her outright pardon of Roan until Nia was far away from the capital but if something happened to her, it was important that her people could vouch for Roan. 

Lexa pulled out a sheet of paper. It was thick, roughed with age and dog eared at the corners – she had had his pardon written three years ago but never signed it, never finalised it. Roan’s dark eyes shone as she laid it out across the table, obviously understanding that Lexa had been holding onto this. It was a strange thing, the gratefulness he must be feeling mixed with resentment. Lexa signed the paper with a flourish, pricking her finger to leave a black bloody stain next to her signature. She glanced over at Indra and Gustus.

“Indra, Gustus you will be my witnesses,” Lexa told them and they glanced at each other. Pardons and banishments were done at Lexa’s discretion but she had found written evidence with witnesses a more fail-proof method. Usually Titus and one of the clan’s ambassadors. But Lexa needed this to be kept quiet. Indra, Nyko and Gustus were already aware of Roan’s presence and they would not leak this secret to another clan’s monarch.

Indra and Gustus signed the paper warily, Indra sparing Roan a final dark look as she finished her signature. Lexa rolled the paper up and gave it Roan.

“I would keep that safe if I were you.”

“With my life, Heda,” Roan told her, clutching his pardon to his chest and bowing low before her. The gesture was part mockery, part sincere, as undecided as Roan himself. Lexa did not begrudge him his feelings but Indra gave a huff of irritation, the leather grip of her sword groaned as she gripped it warningly.

“I shall take that as my cue to leave,” Roan said tartly, meeting Indra’s furious gaze unflinching. Indra muttered something under her breath, too low to comprehend but the meaning clear. Lexa had to bite back her smile.

“Nyko, get Roan a horse. He is to exit the camp as quietly as possible.”

Nyko nodded, bowing in easy deference and moving back towards the exit of the tent. Roan tugged his hood up, his face falling into shadow. He was dressed in dark leathers, mistakable for one of the Triku soldiers from a distance. He glanced back at Lexa, giving her a small nod of his head and then he was gone, slipping out the tent like a shadow.

Roan’s exit sucked the air from the tent, leaving the occupants breathless, impatient.

“Heda,” Indra said finally, almost bursting with questions.

Lexa’s lips quirked; she stepped onto the raised platform where her throne stood. She threw her cloak out the way, practice making it easy to drape the cloak around and over the pointed twists of the throne. Lexa knew the impression she made in her throne, young and beautiful and imposing.

The image of Lexa on her throne seemed to settled Indra and Gustus, reminding them of who she was and Indra stopped talking, dropping into an agitated, impatient bow.

Like Titus, Gustus had been with Lexa since she had been joined the other night blood novitiates; both men had watched her grow from a scrappy, skinny Trikru urchin to what she was today. But unlike Titus, Gustav’s loyalty was completely dedicated to Lexa. Her relationship with her bodyguard would always be a somewhat removed one, fondness diluted by hierarchy and duty but she was as close to a daughter as he would ever have. Lexa knew that if Gustus had been a different sort of man, he would have given in to his desire to embrace her. Instead, he bowed low, a creaking tree bent over almost in half to show his deference.

“Gustus,” Lexa said, unable to keep the fondness out of her voice.

“It is good to see you are well, Heda.” Gustus said gruffly, eyes scanning her.

“The skaikru have talents healers.” Lexa had lost the sling the Arkers had provided not wishing to draw attention to her injury but Gustus’ gaze lingered on her arm knowingly.

“They were also the ones who shot you.” Indra reminded her tartly. Lexa raised an eyebrow at the older woman and Indra pretended to be chastised.

“They were also the ones who rescued me from the Mountain.” Lexa said.

Indra’s face hardened at the mention of Mount Weather, her lips thinning with barely contained anger. Indra was Trikru like Lexa, she had grown up under the shadow of Mount Weather, seen her family and friends taken and found their bodies dumped like rubbish weeks later. Or worse, seen them turned into monsters. And now they had Anya, her once second.

“Heda, the Mountain.” Indra said abruptly, “I have received reports that they have increased their reaping; they have taken dozens of our people in the last week.”

Lexa stopped herself before she could bite at her lip, but it was a close thing. Her thoughts raced; it did not take much to connect the increased activity from Mount Weather with her own escape. Lexa could think of a couple of reasons why but none of them were good. Lexa’s primary target was not Mount Weather, but if her plans found an end to them as well she would be wickedly pleased. Clarke wasn’t the only person for who the crimes the Mountain had committed were personal.

“Tell your people to keep out of their hunting grounds,” Lexa told Indra finally.

Indra nodded in easy acceptance and then hesitated. She glanced at Gustus, wishing the man were not here to see her ask the question she so obviously wished to ask. Like Titus, Indra regarded personal connections as - if not a weakness - a horrible thing to admit to. And yet unlike Titus, the dark-skinned woman couldn’t help but make them. There was something in her strong, nurturing nature that attracted people to her. It was why she had become a leader for half a dozen Trikru villages. It was why Lexa kept her around. Indra mouth twitched and Lexa coughed, taking pity on her.

“Anya was alive in the Mountain. She knew the Sky girl who rescued me. It was Anya who told her to take me instead of her.”

“As she should have done for her commander,” Indra said roughly, proud and pained. Lexa didn’t flinch but Indra’s words were a knife blade against her heart. Anya had been Indra’s second but she had been Lexa’s first mentor. She had been the person who had consoled her after her parents had been taken. The unspoken uncertainty of Anya’s fate lingered between them. Anya had been alive when Lexa left but a week was a long time and grounders did not survive long in the mountain.

“I did not call you here to discuss the mountain,” Lexa told them abruptly, rising to her feet. “Indra, I want messages sent out to all the clans. They are to gather their armies and prepare for war.”

“With the Skaikru?” Indra asked uncertainty, thrown off by Lexa’s sudden change in subject. Indra had been there for Lexa and Finn’s exchange; she had heard Lexa’s orders to accept a treaty meeting and the sudden declaration of war seemed contradictory.

“No. With the Mountain.” Lexa said.

“Heda, we cannot fight the Mountain. You know of their missiles”

Lexa probably knew more of the missiles than Indra did. She had seen guilt-soaked memories of the commander who had seen the destruction the missile had caused first hand. She also knew, because of the shared memories, the secret of the Mountain’s missiles – that they needed someone to go to the missile site and relay coordinators back to the base.

Instead of discussing the missile, Lexa shrugged. “We won’t be fighting the mountain with our army.”

Gustus and Indra exchange a subtle glance, confused by her contradictory statements.

“The army is for Skaikru. They will ask us to go to war with them, and we will agree. Our army is a demonstration of our willingness to ally with them. But I have no intention of sending my people to their death to save their children.”

“Yes, Heda,” Indra said and her mouth twitched. Lexa was familiar with the woman, knowing Indra was trying to find Lexa’s end goal in her orders.

Lexa didn’t give Indra time to ponder it too long, instead, she bent down to the side of her throne where the bundle of stained clothes she had carried with her from the Arkers camp lay. Nestled carefully inside was an Arker radio.

It had amazed Lexa how easily she had been let into the Ark’s medical tent and the council chamber and Raven’s workshop. The Arkers were so arrogant in their superiority, so secure in the grounders' lack of understanding that they didn’t think about what Lexa might see, what she might take. They didn’t think about the information they were sharing with Lexa as they paraded her around their camp. Lexa had seen the schematics of the Ark in the council chamber, she had seen the damage the ship had sustained, the tallies of people in the camp, the supply lists. In Raven’s workshops, she had seen the records of weapons they had, the number of bullets. Lexa’s memory had always been impressive and the flame had only sharpened it. Everything she had seen would remain with her, a perfectly captured picture she could go and harvest for more detail when she wanted. In comparison to that, the radio was one of the smaller things she had stolen from under the Arker’s noses.

Lexa picked up the radio, throwing it towards Indra who snatched it from the air deftly.

“It’s one of their radios,” Lexa said, watching as Indra turned it over in herhands gingerly. “The Skaikru are listening to the Mountain men and we will listen to the Skaikru.”

The grounders had radios, but they rarely worked: too old or broken, or with too short a range to be of use. The clans were united in word but split by distance and an inability to communicate quickly. It made it hard to enforce her will in the remote areas of her lands and gave too much freedom for rulers like Nia to skulk and plot in the shadows.

Lexa almost hadn’t believed Raven when she had figured out Mount Weather was at least partly the cause.

The destruction of Mount Weather’s jammer would speed up communication, allow Lexa direct communication with the twelve clans and not just through their rulers and ambassadors. The possibilities were almost unimaginable. She hoped she could entice Raven to come and show her people to fix and create better radios but if not, the stolen radio would allow her people to reverse engineer them. And in the meantime, this radio would be used to spy on Skaikru and Mount Weather.

“Give it to Nyko, his task is to listen to everything and report back to me. Understood.”

“Yes Heda,” Indra said easily. She might not understand yet why Lexa was asking her to call her armies, but spying on their enemies she was familiar with.

“Thank you, Indra, you may leave us.”

Indra bowed her head respectively, radio clutched against her side. At the exit of the tent she paused and turned back, a frown working its way between her eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“Heda, there is one more thing. Our scouts have spotted Queen Nia’s army. It’s moving in this direction.”

Lexa smiled, all teeth and eagerness. “Good.”

Indra left in a flurry of movement, a storm exiting as quickly as she had entered. When it was needed, Indra was stone, an unmovable force, stable. But she had a wildfire beneath her skin, passion and power and fury. Lexa supposed Indra was where Anya had gotten her fire from. Pushing her thoughts of her mentor out of her mind, she turned to Gustus.

“Gustus, the Skaikru have invited us to meet with them. Their leader will try to treaty with our leader.”

“With you Heda,” Gustus said.

Lexa raised a shoulder delicately, “Their leaders see strength in age, in experience. They will not look fondly on a commander as young as I am.”

Gustus frowned, offended on her behalf. But then he was a grounder, he believed in the flame. He had seen what Lexa had accomplished at thirteen, at fifteen. Youth was a symbol of strength to the grounders; it was old age that made warriors slow and weak. But the Arkers did not think like the grounders and Lexa understood them enough to realise she would not change their opinion any time soon, it would be of no advantage to Lexa for them to know she was the commander.

Lexa’s plan to have another stand in as the commander made sense tactically. It had nothing to do with wanting to hold onto Clarke’s affection for longer, for wanting to delay the inevitable anger and destruction of their relationship. Or so Lexa told herself.

“Gustus, I need you to do something for me when we visit the Skaikru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Troy – Azgeda Capital city, Detroit. The Guardian building is Nia’s palace.
> 
> And so ends Part 1 of this story. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed Lexa's POV and her plans for Nia. I know people were excited for Lexa to reveal herself as the commander and it will happen - but not quite yet! 
> 
> I am going to be taking a couple of weeks off from updating. I have updated every week for 13 weeks and I need a little a break from writing to focus on some of the big things happening n my personal life. If you want to know when this is updated, please subscribe.


	14. Chapter 14

The messenger came while Clarke slept; a tall painted grounder on a horse who rode straight up the gates of the Ark camp and barred his sharp white teeth at the watching soldiers. It was Octavia who spoke to him: she was the only one of them who had any understanding of Trigsleng. And it was Octavia who marched into Clarke’s bedroom, unapologetic as the loud noise sent Clarke tumbling from her bed.

Octavia stopped before her, vibrating with energy. She had plaited more braids across her scalp and down into the length of her hair, looking more and more grounder by the day.

“What?” Clarke asked her groggily, still half asleep. Her limbs felt heavy and uncooperative as she forced herself upright, slumping back onto her bed.

“The commander sent a messenger this morning,” Octavia said finally.

Clarke looked up at her, mind sharpening. “Lexa?”

Octavia’s mouth worked in vaguely embarrassed sympathy. “No, another grounder. He came with a message from their commander: they accept your offer. The commander is coming to Arkadia tomorrow evening, to listen to our treaty offer.”

Clarke let out a noise of celebration, shooting to her feet to grab Octavia’s arms. Octavia understood the significance of the message and she clutched Clarke in return as they grinned at each other. This was what Clarke had wanted, what her people needed: to find peace with the grounders. Then they could work together to fight Mount Weather.

Clarke released Octavia abruptly, scrambling around on the floor to find the boots she had kicked off exhaustedly the night before. She stuffed one foot into the worn leather, hopping as she wiggled her toes past loosed laces.

“Have you told my mother? The Council?”

Octavia shook her head, “No, I came straight to you. And the chancellor is still with Lincoln.”

Clarke paused, balancing on one foot as she looked at Octavia’s face. Abby had returned to the Ark after Clarke had left with Lexa. And with her, she had brought Lincoln. Clarke had only managed a brief conversation with her mother as Abby was stretched thin between her duties as chancellor and Lincoln’s medical needs. But it had been enough to discover that Clarke had been right, her mother had been able to guide Lincoln through the worst of his withdrawal. The grounder was not out of the woods yet. He was being kept in the medical centre and chained to the bed, but he had lost the incoherent, animalism that defined the reapers. He had recognised Octavia’s face.

It must have taken a lot for Octavia to leave Lincoln’s side, Clarke realised.

“Come on, we’ll go to them now. You can stay with Lincoln while I talk to my mother.”

Octavia didn’t smile but she seemed to expand in relief, lighter and brighter than when she was alone. How strange it was, that the savage grounders could make someone like Octavia Blake look like a little girl at Christmas.

The two of them made their way to the medical centre quickly. This was another thing that the Arkers had been working on, getting enough power into the old sections of the ark to be able to power the medical ward. The white, sterile rooms were equipped with electricity, with proper ward beds and IVs. And, importantly in Lincoln’s case: lockable rooms.

“Mom,” Clarke called as she entered.

Abby looked up; her face pale and drawn with exhaustion. Clarke had found herself falling asleep before her head hit the pillow last night, but her mother had never made it to bed. Clarke made a mental note to get her to rest after their conversation. She could keep an eye on things here.

“Clarke, Octavia.” Abby greeted and Octavia waved at her distractedly, rushing to Lincoln’s side.

Lincoln reached out to cup Octavia’s face, his usually stoic face shattering like glass under her scrutiny. They were leaning in close, not kissing but somehow even more intimate. Lincoln’s thumbs rubbed gently back and forth across Octavia’s cheekbones and Octavia clutched at the back of his neck and arm, her small hand curled around his wrist as far as her fingers could stretch.

Abby and Clarke exchanged looks and without a word they stepped outside the room, agreeing to give the lovers some alone time.

“He’s doing better, then.” Clarke started.

Abby ran a hand through her hair. “He’s through the worst of it.” She shook her head, “But he has nightmares, flashbacks. I don’t know what he saw, he won’t speak of it, but that place left a lot of scars.”

Clarke glanced back through the glass doors of the medical centre. Lincoln’s head had dropped down into Octavia’s chest, burrowing like a child into her arms. His eyes were closed, his face tormented.

Clarke swallowed, looking away, feeling like she was intruding.

“Are you OK?” Abby asked, “You look tired.”

“I’m fine. I came to tell you: the Commander sent a messenger. He agreed to our peace talks. He is coming tomorrow evening.”

Abby stared at her, a mixture of panic and pride. “I guess you were right.” She said finally.

Clarke’s smile was a shadow of pride and desperation, “I hope so, we need them to work with us Mom.”

“I know.” Abby rubbed at her face, “A day though. It doesn’t give us much time to prepare.”

“What did you need, I can help. My people can help.”

Her mother gave a sideways glance at Clarke’s slip up, at the obvious division in her mind between the 100 and the rest of the Arkers. But Abby let it pass, her mind too focused on the other things they would need. “I’m going to speak to the council. Go and speak to the kitchens, they will know what I want.”

Clarke nodded, “I will do.”

When she was younger Clarke used to always leave her mother with a kiss on the cheek but their relationship had become strained and twisted. Clarke couldn’t imagine doing that now, not with any sincerity. But despite everything she loved her mother, she wanted a connection with her no matter how angry she felt. And it was obvious Abby wanted the same thing, she had been trying in her own way – helping Lincoln, trusting Clarke to try for a treaty with the grounders. Clarke’s hand brushed out to touch her mothers’ wrist, a hesitant gesture between them before she darted off.

* * *

Halfway to the canteen, a voice called out Clarke’s name and Clarke turned to find Finn running towards her, tossing his hair out of his face.

Clarke hesitated at his approach, her breathing catching a little. They had only managed to speak briefly on their walk back to the camp, the journey had been both too long and too short after everything they had been through. Despite his weariness and the rough bruises around his wrists, Finn had seemed better, healthier than the last time she had seen him. Almost as calm and carefree like she remembered him.

“Hi,” Finn said finally, a crooked half-smile on his face. Clarke turned away from him.

“I thought you would be with Raven,” Clarke said sharply and Finn winced. They had parted ways the night before when Finn had set out on a mission to find Raven. Clarke couldn’t blame him, Raven deserved to see him, deserved his affection, and Clarke’s feelings for Finn were cold dying embers. But it was too familiar to his first rejection not to hurt.

“She erm, she told me to leave her alone,” Finn said finally.

Clarke raised an eyebrow in surprise. The entire time Clarke had known Raven, the girl had been defined by her love of the dark-haired boy, twisted up and caught in her feelings for him.

“She said she needed some space to work on disabling the acid fog – which I have so many questions about by that by the way.”

Clarke snorted, not quite sure if she was pleased because Raven was working on disabling the acid fog or because she had chosen the acid fog over Finn.

Finn bit his lip, “She also something about not understanding the appeal of me.”

“Good for her. You don’t deserve her.”

“I know that.” Finn said, a hint of frustration bleeding into her voice, “I’ve been waiting for her to figure that out.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Clarke retorted, her tone sharpening.

Finn held up his hands, “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to fight. Please, Clarke.”

Clarke sighed, breathing out and feeling her anger dissipate like condensation. “I don’t want to fight either. There aren’t enough of us left to fight.”

Finn nodded and they continued onwards for a few minutes, the silence lingering between them as Finn gathered his thoughts, his usually cheerful face tight with feeling.

“When I thought the grounders had taken you, I…. I wasn’t myself; I was willing to do horrible, awful things. I wanted to hurt them. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone before,” Clarke glanced over to see Finn staring at the floor, his expression dark, his mouth twisting. Raven had hinted bitingly at Finn’s feelings for Clarke but it was still a shock to hear him admit what his feelings for Clarke had driven him to her. It made Clarke feel uneasy, the way Finn has twisted and corrupted himself. Finn said it was for her, and maybe there was some truth in that. But in hindsight, the cracks had been forming long before Clarke had been taken by the Mountain: his disgust at their treatment of Lincoln; his anger when Jasper had fired on Anya.

Finn shook his head, running a hand through his hair as if to shake out the memories of his time without Clarke. “I’m sorry for the mess I caused. I never wanted that. I never meant to put you in danger. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“I know,” Clarke said softly. Her mind drifted to Lexa and the chasm of pain she had seen beneath the girl’s carefully controlled mask. Once again, she was reminded that the Arkers and the grounders weren’t that different. “The things we’ve seen, what we’ve done – it leaves scars. It can consume you if you’re not careful.”

Finn shivered. “Do you dream of them?”

“Who?”

“The grounders? The ones we burnt?” He swallowed, looking sick, “I hear them every night, screaming.”

Clarke paused looking at him more intently. She had been wrong before, he was not the carefree, careless flirt she had met those long months ago, bright with daring and idealism. He looked haunted, fractured. Clarke made a mental to keep him away from the visiting grounders tomorrow.

“For a while I did,” Clarke said finally, “When I was in Mount Weather, I dreamt about them. But it stopped when I escaped.”

Finn looked at her, desperation tinging his expression. Clarke had no answers for his unasked questions; she had no idea why she had stopped dreaming of the murder she had committed, why she was not haunted like Finn was.

Clarke coughed, rubbing the goosebumps that had risen on her arms. “The Commander is coming tomorrow, to negotiate a treaty with us. You were right before; we should have made peace with the grounders.”

Finn blinked, shadows fading to the corners of his expression. “The Commander is coming here?”

“Yes, did you meet him?”

Finn shook his head, “No, they kept me tied up alone in a tent for the most part. But I could hear them sometimes, talking about the commander. They spoke of the commander like he was a god come down to Earth.”

Clarke blinked at him, willing him to go on.

Finn gnawed at his bottom lip, biting it until it was swollen and red. “They called him a visionary, a saviour. But they’re scared of him as well, he’s ruthless in his dealings with his enemies. A fierce warrior, a skilled politician. ” He looked at Clarke, “Be careful Clarke, don’t underestimate him.”

“I won’t,” Clarke promised and they turned together towards the canteen.

* * *

Preparations for the Grounders arrival ran throughout the night. Abby had ordered most of the people to the far side of the Ark camp, clearing the entry courtyard and creating a clear walkway through the council chambers. It was there, she planned on holding her peace talks, far away from the burning fear of her people. None of them had any idea how many grounders to expect but Abby hoped the small room would limit the number to just their leaders. Clarke thought this was a sensible idea, she had seen how too many opinions stalled decision making.

Bellamy for all his antagonism towards the council had quickly being been roped into helping the soldiers and Clarke had found him standing guard in one of the hastily constructed watchtowers near the gate. She clambered up next to him, ignoring the grumbled protests of the other soldiers, and settled herself next to Bellamy to wait. He glanced at her, a gun slung across his torso and the Arker guard uniform proudly displayed across his chest.

“Nice uniform,” Clarke said.

Bellamy looked uncomfortable, expression closing up. “It was the only way they would let me take a front tower. We need to have one of us here.”

“I’m not judging,” Clarke said apologetically. Then glanced back over the camp, taking in the other Arkers and soldiers. There were so few of the 100 in the camp. Barely a handful of them left. The Arkers had been quick to throw away the divisions and hierarchies of the Ark, but the 100 remained isolated, sticking to each other rather than integrating. The Arkers might have forgotten the series of events that had led them back to earth but the 100 remembered.

“Do you still think of them as different from us?” Clarke asked softly.

“The grounders?”

“No. The Arkers.”

Bellamy huffed angrily, his breath condensing in the air and curling up like a plump of smoke between them. “They dropped 100 kids down on a planet they thought would kill them. I hope I am different than them.”

Clarke bit at her gnawed thumbnail, not knowing how to respond. From Bellamy’s silence, he didn’t either.

The grounders arrived as the sun was setting; an impressive progress of horses that made a dark train against the backdrop of a russet and orange sky.

Clarke jolted at the sight and peered into the fading light, trying to count them. Of the two dozen grounders warriors, half stopping at the edge of the trees, beyond the reach of the Arker guns. They made ghoulish statues, their forms elongated and contorted in the dark, their eyes flashing as their pupils caught the light of their torches.

Bellamy called out a signal, his voice making Clarke jump and she watched as his command was picked up in the adjourning guards' towers and filtered down below. The gates crackled with electricity and then creaked open.

“Clarke, look,” Bellamy said, nudging her and drawing her attention back to the smaller train of grounders still approaching their camp.

In the middle of the group, half-hidden by the press of bodies around her was Lexa. The girl’s hair was back in her elaborate braids, a mane of curls tumbling down her back as she moved. Clarke’s heart started racing, her mouth going dry with sudden nerves. Lexa had promised Clarke she would return but Clarke hadn’t allowed herself to vocalise her desire to see the girl, forcing herself instead to focus on preparing for the commander, keeping her thoughts on her plan to save the 100. Now all of Clarke’s attention was focused on the grounder, watching as Lexa turned to talk to a huge, grizzled man next to her, barely touching her horse’s reigns, her strong legs directing the horse forward. She was wild and dangerous and even more beautiful than Clarke remembered. Clarke found herself smiling, relived, and desperate for their reunion.

At her side, Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Well go on then. We need you in that room anyway.”

Clarke grinned at him, “thanks.”

Bellamy pulled a face at her thanks, “Just bring our people home.”

Clarke nodded, her excitement muted for a moment by the weight of the task she had before her. Taking a deep breath, Clarke shimmied down the ladder and ran towards the gates.

Clarke came to a halt at her mother’s side just as the train of horses passed through the gates and thundered into the courtyard. The grounders filled the space with noise and the musky scent of fire and leather; too loud, too big in the small, muddy courtyard. From the tops of their horses, the grounders watched the Arkers with dark, fierce eyes. They made a nightmarish image; covered in dripping warpaint and tattoos and clad in bulky armour and lengths of dark fur and leather. Their weapons hung at their hips, across their back - a mixture of elegant swords and crudely made clubs. Like Lexa and Anya, the group favoured braids, beads and feathers woven through their beards and hair. Clarke had forgotten how strange and alien the grounders could look, so savage and wild in comparison to the awkward, neat but worn Arkers. Clarke wondered if they looked at the Arkers and thought something similar.

The two grounders leading the group sneered at the watching Arkers, muttering to each other in Tringasleng. The grounder horses towered over the Arker soldiers, hooves throwing up dirt and their laboured breathing sending banners of white condensation uncoiling out before them in agitation. Like the grounders, the horses had also been painted with chalk and elaborate spiralling designs but their journey had left the animals sweating and the paint and chalk had melted, travelling in sharp spikes down to their bellies. One of the horses neighed loudly, prancing in anxiety, the whites of its eyes straining. The Arker guards looked at each other, guns clutched a bit tighter, threateningly.

Abby, recognising the rising tension, took a step forward, away from the safety of her guard.

“I am Abby Griffin, the Chancellor of my people.”

There a pause among the grounders and then the first line of grounders peeled away, revealing Lexa and her huge companion. Clarke turned to the girl like a flower towards the sun, compelled.

Lexa’s hair had been pulled away from her face, braided elaborately with beads and brass cuffs, the bulk of her dark curls left to tumble down to the small of her back. She was wearing a strange armoured shoulder piece, defensive and bulky, and falling around her was a vivid red cloak, the only bright piece of colour among the whole party. Like the other grounders, her face had been painted; a black mask cutting across her face, circling her eyes and dripping in streaks down her sharp cheekbones. Her eyes looked cold, dangerous in the fading light and the warpaint made her expression more unreadable than usual, leaving only an impression of sharpness and danger. Lexa was always beautiful but in her warpaint, staring down at the Arkers, her beauty was that of a ceremonial knife – enticing and deadly. From Abby’s expression, Clarke wasn’t the only one taken aback by Lexa’s appearance.

Clarke shivered; she had been waiting for this moment, waiting to see Lexa again. But the grounder warrior sat on the horse above her seemed almost untouchable, so far removed than the Lexa who had fallen asleep in the greedy clutch of Clarke’s hands. If Lexa had spotted Clarke, she made no sign of acknowledging her, sitting instead statue-like on her horse as the other grounders moved around her. There was something not quite right about the deferential way the other grounders looked at Lexa, something about the bright, richness of her outfit and the way Lexa looked down on the Arkers.

A thought drifted just outside of Clarke’s reach, floating away as the man at Lexa’s side spoke suddenly, his deep voice rumbling through Clarke’s wandering mind. He spoke in Tringalseng but it was obviously an introduction. Clarke looked at him, taking in his age roughed face and his plaited beard and the war paint smeared like a banner of colour across his eyes.

“This is Gustus, he is the Commander of the 12 Clans,” Lexa said to Abby. “The commander speaks in Tringasleng, I am part of his personal guard. I will act as his translator.”

Clarke found herself gaping at Lexa in surprise, taking in the easy familiarity between Lexa and the commander and feeling her understanding of the girl crack.

Lexa had told Clarke she came from Trikru, that Anya had been her mentor. But Clarke realised sickly, Lexa had rarely spoken of anything recent. Clarke had always wondered why Anya had sacrificed herself for Lexa, knowing on some level that it wasn’t in keeping with self-sufficiency that the grounders seemed to prize. But Lexa had been vague and Clarke had never pushed her for details. There had been other hints she had ignored. Lexa’s had told Clarke of the old Commander’s eating habits. Even at the time, Clarke had thought it was strange that Lexa would have such knowledge but she had brushed it away, not wanting to think about it. And then there was Lexa’s fight against the reapers in the Mount Weather tunnels; even injured she had easily put down three reapers. Clarke had seen Anya’s warriors fight; she had seen Lincoln fight. Even among the fierce grounder warriors, Lexa had been extraordinary.

Clarke had been wilfully blind. She had been so eager to believe that Lexa was still just a random Trikru clan member, imagining that she was a hunter like Lincoln, or maybe a warrior like Anya. But she wasn’t. It suddenly made sense all those times Lexa had been seemingly amused at Clarke’s expense – laughing at Clarke’s worries about how they could speak to the commander. Lexa must have been laughing at Clarke’s ignorance the whole time. She must have told the commander everything.

“Welcome to Arkadia.” Abby said finally, gaze moving between Lexa and the Commander, looking just as strained as Clarke felt. Abby’s gaze lingered on Lexa, her mouth twisted, barely able to control the warring emotions of surprise and anger. The last time Abby had seen Lexa, she had been more Arker than grounder, a slight, unthreatening teenage girl in borrowed clothes. Lexa’s had just made them all realise how naïve they had been. They had had welcomed a wolf into their midst thinking it a sheep.

Lexa repeated Abby’s greeting to the commander, falling quiet as she waited for the man to respond. “The commander says he is willing to hear your offer of a treaty and to show our sincerity, we have brought you a gift,” she repeated to Abby.

The commander might not have spoken English but the rest of the group obviously did. At Lexa’s words, the group of grounders shuffled and rearranged themselves again, revealing a previously hidden rider. Marcus Kane was sat unsteadily on the back of a grey horse; his white-knuckled hands giving away his unease at the mode of transport.

“Kane.” Abby breathed and Clarke could feel her mother thrumming with her energy, barely holding herself back from running towards him. Clarke had never thought particularly well of Marcus Kane, he was always a little too bloodthirsty, too harsh, too dismissive of other people. Abby had told Clarke that the man was changing, becoming a better leader who wanted to do things differently. From her mother’s reaction at his return, she suspected their relationship had improved even more than Abby had let on. Clarke tried not to judge her for it, Bellamy had started off her as her biggest adversary – the earth made strange bedfellows.

Kane slid off the horse, barely able to contain his sigh of relief. He nodded at the grounders, a purposeful and clearly visible expression of respect and then he went over to Abby. His hand skimmed Abby’s shoulder as he came to stand beside her.

“Thank you,” Abby said to the commander with sincerity.

Lexa smiled, but her expression was a little too sharp, a little too pleased as she responded, translating the commander’s gruff response. “Our Commander is ready to talk to the Skaikru’s chancellor.”

Abby’s hand twitched, rising and falling before she could touch her chancellor’s pin, her expression was tight, tense suddenly. Her mother, Clarke realised, was only the acting chancellor and the grounders had just rocked the foundations of her power by producing Kane – the real chancellor. And it was clear from Lexa’s words the grounders knew of their relationship.

Clarke looked at Lexa, feeling cold. It had been Clarke who had told Lexa that her mother was the acting chancellor, she had told Lexa about Kane. Clarke bit into her lip hard enough to bruise, biting back sudden furious humiliation. She had never asked Lexa to keep the information a secret but it had been said as something between friends; when she had assumed Lexa was just another Trikru warrior.

Clarke swallowed, feeling hot and knotted. She glanced at Lexa and finally, the girl looked down, her gaze resting on Clarke’s tight pinched expression. Lexa’s eyes were cold, impossibly, brilliantly green in contrast to the dark black smears of paint.

It was lucky, Clarke told herself that Lexa obviously had the ear of the commander, that she could speak for the Arkers.

But all Clarke could think about was what else had Lexa told the commander, and what else she had kept from Clarke.

What other lies had Lexa let Clarke believe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Alot of things going on in my personal life, not least that I have a new job and am in the middle of buying a house - so much paperwork guys. I shall try to update every other week (Sunday likelys) but am trying not to over promise.
> 
> It's been a while so come and tell me what you think of this chapter. And happy new year, aren't we all glad 2020 is over?


	15. Chapter 15

Clarke gnawed at her lip.

Kane’s reappearance had unsettled the Arkers. The waiting Arker guards glanced at each other uneasily; uncertain of whose orders they should obey and half expecting Kane to demand the chancellor’s pin back from Abby. Worse, the Arker’s distraction was not unnoticed by the grounders, whose stony faces seemed somehow to display their scorn at the unsteady authority.

Kane coughed softly, the small sound snagging the attention of both parties. He smiled at Abby, charismatic despite his unkempt appearance. “Chancellor, it is good to see you again. I hope you will allow me to accompany you during these peace talks.”

Abby’s answering smile was tight. Kane’s request wasn’t much of a request at all unless she was willing to risk losing his public display of support. Still, Clarke couldn’t help but think it was probably for the best that he attended. She could at least trust Kane not to put her well-being over the peace talks.

“Of course,” Abby said stiffly and then turned the Commander, waiting as he climbed off his horse.

Even without the added height of his horse, the commander was an imposing figure, taller than any of the Arkers. He was barrel-chested, his arms thick with corded muscle. His sword was as oversized as the rest of him, a huge flat slab of sharpened metal that gleamed across his back. At his side, Lexa seemed young and small, but Clarke knew the truth of her. She recognised the danger in Lexa’s cat-like steps and understood the tranquil, intelligence in her pale eyes as she met the commander’s gand followed Abby and Kane into the Ark.

In the end, it was only the Commander, Indra and Lexa who decided to venture into the Ark. Lexa to translate for the commander and Indra as the decided representative of Trikru. The rest of the grounders remained waiting on their horses in the courtyard, scowling under the nervous gaze of the Arker soldiers.

There were a dozen, narrow winding corridors between the entrance to the Ark and the council chamber. Supposedly electricity had been restored to this part of the Ark, but the bulbs above them flickering weakly, sending shadows jumping at their feet. Every minute or so the electricity died completely, darkness swallowing the group for a few uneasy seconds before the lights crackled and flared above them once again.

“Clarke.”

Clarke jumped. Somehow, in the space of a split second of darkness, Lexa had disappeared from the commander’s side and reappeared at Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke felt her face heat, not quite able to look at Lexa directly. Her heart starting racing, a furious drumbeat against her rib cage. Two steps ahead of them, Indra glanced over her shoulder, her mouth set in a tight disapproving line.

“I don’t think Indra wants you to talk to me,” Clarke said, her words coming short, sharper than she expected.

There was a beat of silence between them. “No, I suppose she doesn’t,” Lexa said finally, her voice was soft enough that Clark had to strain to hear her. This close, Clarke could feel the heat from Lexa’s skin, smell the smoke and the leather coming from her. “Clarke…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Clarke said hurriedly. They were only a few minutes away from their destination and Clarke knew this probably wasn’t the right time or place to confront the girl but she felt bruised, aching with anger and the words spilled out of her uncontrollably. “You didn’t tell me you were part of the Commander’s personal guard.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“That’s not fair.” Clarke snapped; her voice flared, loud enough that Kane and Indra twisted to look at them from the head of their small procession. The man raised one dark, curious eyebrow at Clarke before being distracted by the commander and turning away. Lexa grabbed Clarke’s arm, forcing her to stillness, and shook her head at Indra. The woman scowled but turned away, following the commander and the Arkers. In unspoken agreement, Clarke and Lexa remained still, letting the space between them and the rest of the party open up. The air between them was thick, laden with tension.

“Would your people have let me go if they had known?” Lexa asked quietly. Her hand was a brand around Clarke’s arm, holding her tight enough to hurt. Clarke knew what Lexa was trying to say, and she swallowed, unwilling to admit the truth of it. She remembered the way the 100 had captured Lincoln, the way the grounders had used Murphy. Everyone could be used by the opposition if they thought it was worthwhile. If her mother had known how dangerous Lexa was, if the council had known how close she was to tge Commander, Lexa would not have been let go so easily. Lexa had been safe because Clarke’s people underestimated her. Lexa had been safe because she let them underestimate her.

It hurt Clarke’s pride that she had been as easily fooled as everyone else. It hurt to realise that once upon a time she might have been just as quick to use Lexa.

“You could have told me,” Clarke said finally.

Lexa tilted her head, despite the dark mask curled across her cheekbones, her expression was set in familiar distant serenity. “Would you have told me who you were if our positions were reversed?”

Clarke’s jaw tightened in defiance. They both knew the answer to that question. “I would have wanted to.” She said bitterly.

There was a fire in Clarke’s belly, she felt ready to burn the delicate thing that had formed between her and Lexa. But her anger was hard to maintain under Lexa’s cool, unwavering logic. Lexa had only done what Clarke would have done. Lexa had kept her closeness to the Commander a secret and Clarke would have done the same. And there was another part of Clarke that was sickly grateful that Lexa hadn’t told anyone, that her deception had ensured her safety from the Arkers. The idea that Lexa could have been hurt like Lincoln, like Anya’s warriors: Clarke felt her mind shying away from the thought of it, finding instead another open wound to pick at.

“You told the Commander about my Mother and Kane,” Clarke said accusingly.

“I did,” Lexa admitted, her voice unwavering.

Clarke’s jaw tightening, muscles jumping in anger. She could feel the fire in her eyes, searing into Lexa’s impassive face. “You betrayed my trust.”

“Clarke-”

“Did you mean any of it? Or was it all just a way of getting information out of me?”

Lexa had gone silent; her eyes were brilliantly green in her face, luminous in the shadowy corridor. She was ice cold in the face of Clarke’s anger, unblinkingly, unmoved; her calmness felt somehow like she was judging Clarke, superior in the face of Clarke’s accusations. Clarke found her tongue withering. She wanted to shake the girl, to force a reaction out of her. How dare Lexa be so controlled when Clarke felt like she was unravelling.

“Clarke, I understand why you doubt me,” Lexa told her finally, the hard lines of her face softening. “But it meant a great deal to me; I thought, being away from you would make my feelings abate.” Lexa frowned, her expression flitting into confusion and frustration. “But it did not. I care just as much now as when I left you.”

Clarke stared at the girl, searching her face for any hint of a lie. Her heart had started racing again at Lexa’s words, this time not in anger and she could feel a familiar heat in her belly, her fingers itching to reach out and dig into Lexa’s hair, to drag the girl into her. Clarke folded her hands together, locking her fingers in place so tightly it hurt.

“That must have been hard for you to admit.”

Clarke had meant it as a jab but there was some truth in her words; she remembered Lexa’s claims that love was weakness and Clarke’s tone was softer than she had wanted.

Lexa raised her eyebrows in self-flagellating agreement. “I care more than I should about your opinion of me” she admitted.

“Then why? You must have known this would make me mad?”

“Things are not black and white,” Lexa said, a drop of frustration bleeding into her tone. “I have a duty to my people. Your people are not yet our allies.”

“Clarke.” Lexa’s tongue clicked on the hard K in Clarke’s name. “I did not betray your trust lightly. Kane is a good leader; he will do what is needed to make a peace treaty work between my people and yours. Your mother…” Lexa hesitated, the corner of her mouth twisted down slightly.

Clarke frowned. “My mother is a good leader.”

“Your mother loves you.” Lexa said, “she will do what she thinks is best for you, even if it risks the alliance.”

Clarke went silent, unable to contradict Lexa. Clarke had worshipped her mother growing up, and once she had found out about her father’s death, she had hated Abby with just as much intensity. Now Clarke’s feeling was settling into something different, the scales of childhood falling away from her eyes so she could view her mother as just another complex and contradictory human being. Clarke found she was still in awe of her mother’s intelligence, of her medical expertise but she could also see her flaws; and Abby’s biggest blindspot was Clarke herself. There was a reason it was Clarke and not Bellamy going to try and gain entry into the council meeting – Abby was biased when it came to Clarke and it gave Clarke advantages she was more than willing to use. But her mother’s love was also dangerous: Abby had proven the lengths she was willing to do go to protect Clarke, it made her unpredictable, it made her a dangerous leader.

“I need this treaty,” Clarke said finally, her voice breaking with feeling. Everything hung on this meeting, she would never save her friends unless the grounders and the Arkers were able to come to an agreement. Clarke couldn’t bear the thought that she might, in some way, be the reason it stalled.

“Then let us make sure we can reach an agreement.” Lexa’s fingers twitched, skimming Clarke’s clenched fists. Clarke pulled her hand away sharply, still not quite ready to touch Lexa with anything but anger right now. Lexa’s jaw tightened.

“I know you are mad at me right now,” Lexa said, folding her hands behind her back. Her face had shuttered at Clarke’s rejection, her leaf green eyes cooler, more distant. “But I need you to trust me.”

Clarke licked her lips, tasting salt beneath her tongue. Even in her anger, she recognised the hypocrisy of her feelings. Clarke had been ready to use Lexa to broker a deal with the grounders. Ready to use anything she learnt from Lexa to help her people.

Lexa had said they were similar; she had all but laid out to Clarke how she would behave. It had been Clarke’s arrogance that had stopped her from seeing it.

“I trust you,” Clarke said finally, grudging. “But no more lies.”

* * *

The councillors were waiting for them; familiar pinched faces trying not to give away their anxiety as Kane and Abby led the Commander into the room.

Clarke thought for a moment she would be turned away but Lexa gestured for her to enter and all the Arkers present were smart enough not to contradict her. The council members started mumbling as Lexa came to stand in the Commander’s shadow, their expression contorting with surprise and humiliation as they recognised her. Seeing their reaction had Clarke snorting in dark amusement as she settled in the empty chair on the far side of the council chamber. 

“We have also prepared a gift for you,” Abby said to the Commander as the councillors settled on the far side of the circular council table. On the table were boxes of books and alcohol. Most of the alcohol was akin to Jasper’s home-made brew but some of it was whiskey, saved from before they had left earth. It had taken Clarke, Finn, and most of the kitchen staff all day to dig out those particular bottles.

Indra stepped up to the boxes, touching and recounting the contents back to Lexa and the commander. The council was silent, caught on a knife’s edge as they waited to see the commander’s reaction. Their initial surprise at seeing Lexa had passed and they were all watching the huge Commander, their eyes focused on the man’s grizzled tattoo face. However, it was Lexa Clarke found herself staring at. Clarke wasn’t sure if it was hormones or stewing anger or if Lexa’s charisma was just so strong that she snatched attention even when she wasn’t trying.

The Commander said something to Lexa, whose blank expression twitched. “The Commander thanks you,” Lexa told them softly.

Kane beamed, and Abby breathed a sigh of relief, gesturing towards the council table. “Please sit, let us talk of forming a treaty to benefit both our people.”

Lexa repeated Abby’s word to the Commander and there was an awkward pause as the two went back and forth in Tringasleng, a feeling of carefully worded disagreement between them. Finally, the Commander sat, his bulk making the metal chair groan under his weight. Indra stood behind the Commander easily, a hand curled in readiness on her sword as she watched Kane and Abby take their seats at the table.

“We were advised that your people value trading,” Abby said to the Commander, her eyes unconsciously flickering to glance at Lexa. “And we thought the cornerstone of our alliance –“

“No.” Indra interrupted sharply. It was the first thing she had said anything and the interruption had Abby stuttering, voice trailing off at the fiery, distasteful look the dark-eyed woman levelled at her. Indra looked at the Commander and he nodded for her to continue. “Before you discuss peace with the Commander, we must first speak of reparations.”

The councillors looked at each other, murmuring uneasily under their breath. At Lexa’s side, the Commander had started speaking again, and Lexa translated easily, her cool sharp voice soaring over the other noise in the room. “Your people destroyed one of Trikru’s villages; you burnt alive unarmed people and children. You have shown no remorse, offered no reparations for the lives you have taken. Trikru demand blood for blood split.”

“Blood?”

“Lifeblood, the death of those who are responsible. The death of the 100 who first landed in Trikru territory.”

Abby shot to her feet, her face bloodless. “Absolutely not!”

Indra twisted to face Abby, her hand curled warning around her sword handle. Around them, a cacophony of shocked, angry voice echoed. The room was suddenly laden with tension, thick as caramel, clogging the air.

Clarke’s mouth had gone dry, her heart raced. She felt frozen, locked to her chair, unable to comprehend what was happening. Lexa knew she was one of the 100, she must have known she was asking for Clarke’s death.

As if she could hear Clarke’s thoughts, Lexa glanced at Clarke, green eyes lingering on her. Lexa raised a dark eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement like they were sharing a joke and Clarke felt her muscles unlock. This was a game she realised. Clarke remembered their conversation in the corridor, Lexa’s warning about Abby and needing Clarke to trust her. Clarke felt her heart slow down, her tongue loosening in her mouth as understanding swept away her fear. Lexa wasn’t calling for Clarke’s death at all, this was a negotiation tactic, the opening gambit before the Commander told them what he really wanted.

Clarke couldn’t help but be a little impressed, or she would have been if it hadn’t been her life being used as a poker chip. Clarke had hoped the treaty would be easy, straightforward and then they could talk about Mount Weather. She had not predicted this. At this rate, they would be lucky to come to a treaty agreement at all.

The council’s voices had risen to a fever pitch, their angry objections laden with distrust and disgust. Abby clutched at the council table, almost vibrating with energy. Her eyes darted between Indra and the Commander in a way that suggested she was ready to throw herself across the table and fight the giant man herself. She opened her mouth, teeth bared but before she could speak Kane, gripped her arm, squeezing her bicep warningly.

Kane raised a hand at the council to silence them and they fell back to grumbling silence. Clarke was grudgingly impressed by his ability to control them, his steadiness in the face of their rowdy unrest. She had been right to think it was a good thing that he had come to this meeting.

“The 100,” Kane said slowly, “They’re just kids, it was an accident what happened.”

The Commander said something sharp under his breath.

“Does their youth or their lack of intention make my people any less dead?” Lexa relayed back. She spoke, Clarke thought like these were her own words.

“No, I apologise,” Kane said sincerely, eyes turned beseechingly to the Commander. “I did not mean to dismiss the pain we have caused your people and I want to find a way to make reparations. But we do not kill kids; there must be some other way we can make this right.”

Lexa repeated Kane’s speech to the Commander. It seemed to have some effect on the man as the three grounders turned away from Kane and the council to exchange a lazy back and forth. Clarke didn’t need to understand Trigedasleng to know that Indra was outraged, her words were clipped, spat out from between gritted teeth. In comparison, the Commander was quiet; his rough, aged features had settled an unreadable, stony stare. 

“One year of servitude for each of the original 100 who came down in the first drop ship,” Lexa said finally, turning back to focus on Kane. “They will come back with the commander to Polis and work to repay the coalition for what they have taken.”

Abby shook her head violently. Her hands clutching the table hard enough to make it groan beneath her fingertips. “No, I refuse. There must be something else we can do.”

“The Commander has already been generous to spare their lives.” Indra spat back at Abby. “Now you would insult us?.”

“Then be insulted! You take my daughter over my dead body!”

Indra barred her teeth at the woman, the leather handle of sword creaking as she held it. “That.” She hissed, “Can be arranged,”

“Most of the 100 had nothing to do with the destruction of your village,” Clarke said loudly, her voice a jarring interruption that had the room turning to look at her. The council shared indignant glances at her disruption but the grounders had gone silent and the Commander gave a small nod to continue.

Clarke licked her lip, standing up. “It was just a few of us who released the flare, the others didn’t even know it was happening.”

“Clarke,” Abby said warningly but neither Clarke nor the grounders acknowledged her. Lexa and the Commander spoke back and forth quickly.

“Name those responsible,” Lexa spoke directly to Clarke this time. Lexa’s green eyes flat and impossibly cool framed by the dark sharp lines of her war paint; she looked savage, monstrous.

Clarke hesitated, wavering for a moment in her conviction to trust Lexa.

“Clarke, don’t you dare –“

“Raven Reyes, Bellamy Blake, Finn Collins, and myself.” Clarke said finally, ignoring the burning gaze of her mother.

Lexa nodded, “One year for each of those responsible and another six years of servitude to divide up between your people or take on yourself.”

“No.” Abby interrupted sharply, her voice wavering somewhere between an order and a plea “I won’t allow it –“

“Maybe we can reach a different sort of agreement?” Kane added.

“I accept.”

The room fell into silence. The councillors had ignored Clarke so far, not acknowledging her presence when she entered the council room. Now every pair of eyes in the room was staring at her, wide with bewilderment, insulted that she would dare interject into their business.

“No.” Abby barked. Her hair was wild, a lion’s mane around her snarling face. She surged forward, marching around the table to grab Clarke’s arm, dragging her backward, hiding her away from the eyes of the grounders. Abby glared at the commander; her face pale, dangerous with desperation. “She is not the chancellor; she cannot make this decision for my people.”

“They are my people.” Clarke snapped back at her mother, back at the council with their sneering, judgemental eyes. She shook off her mother’s hand sharply, stepping away from her.

Clarke could feel months, years of fury bubbling out from beneath her skin, filling the room. How she hated them, for what they had done to her father, for the year she had spent trapped in a white box drawing pictures of the wall. They were responsible for Wells’ death, for all the pain and fear Clarke had experienced, that her people had experienced. It was their fault most of the 100 were still in Mount Weather. Clarke was not going to let them - the council or her mother - destroy the only chance she had to get them back, especially not while righteously claiming they were looking out for Clarke and the handful of remaining 100.

The council members glanced at each other, still torn between irritation and surprise as Clarke turned to address them. “You made the decision to throw us off the Ark. You dumped us here as a science experiment, as a way to save your own skin. We had nothing, no supplies, not knowledge. We were a bunch of kids, we died here.”

Clarke looked at Abby, giving life to the unspoken argument that had been bubbling up between them since Clarke had arrived at the camp. “You don’t get to claim us after that. I led the 100, I kept them alive. I’m their leader and I make the decisions for them.”

Abby’s jaw muscles spasmed, the veins in her neck popping – too furious, too hurt to speak. Kane had followed her around the table as Clarke spoke and now, he rested a hand on Abby’s shoulder, his fingers white-tipped as he held her firmly in place. It was a warning to save their confrontation for later when they did not have an audience.

Lexa’s face was calm, blank as always. It probably for the best considering the turmoil running through the Arkers. Clarke met Lexa’s gaze, and the girl's eyes were as clear and transparent as green glass, a glimpse of shared pain behind her stony mask.

Clarke didn’t give the councillors any time to object before stepping forward, her hand outstretched. “I accept.”

Somehow it didn’t feel wrong when it was Lexa, not the Commander who took Clarke’s hand.

* * *

Lorelai was so tired it felt like her bones were throbbing.

Her legs were heavy, led weights and her neck ached, struggling to uncurl from the hunched over position she had been in all day. She locked the lab door behind with a groan, pressing her knuckles into the knotted muscles of her neck and rolling her head backwards until her eyes were staring straight up at the flicking fluorescent ceiling light.

The Mount Weather council had been in panicked disarray for the past day, and Lorelai had been dragged into the sudden desperate surge of activity, running from meeting to meeting with hastily pulled together figures and speeches.

From what she could gather, a grounder army had been spotted near the camp the Ark survivors had made. The council had known about this for days but been unconcerned, assuming the grounders were engaging in their usual archaic savagery and preparing to lay siege on the foreign Ark camp. Lorelai knew the mindset of the council and could almost imagine them laughing as they saw the gathering forces, hoping their two enemies would destroy each other.

Instead, something strange had happened. First, a couple of Arkers approached the grounder camp and left unharmed. Then the grounders approached the makeshift gates of the Arker camp. And earlier this evening, a delegation of grounders had been gone into the Ark and been welcomed by the Arker’s leader. It had been an obviously peaceful exchange, a meeting of allies, not enemies. Needless to say, the council was in hysterics imagining the two groups uniting and turning their eyes on Mount Weather.

Lorelai grimaced at the thought of it. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she reached down to slip off her pumps. The sole of feet throbbed; her arches felt bruised, swollen. The cool concrete floor was a stinging balm as she placed her bare feet back to the ground with a sigh.

Shoes dangling from her fingertips, Lorelai trudged slowly back towards her quarters. The council’s imagination had been running wild all afternoon: they had been locked in the president’s office for hours preparing for a siege, taking stock of their supplies and their weapons. Lorelai as chief medical officer had been redeployed to bring together long lists of medical supplies and stored grounder blood for transfusion.

Their flapping had been pointless, a waste of time and effort and their sudden demands had forced Lorelai away from her true work. Since she had extracted the information of the black bloods from the grounder boy, she had been spending most of her nights scouring Mount Weather’s security camera footage for any indication of the escaped grounder. Lorelai was sure she has seen a glimpse of dark curls and pale eyes on some footage near the entrance to the underground parking garage, but that had been from days ago. Still, it told her the grounder hadn’t gone far, that she was still in range of the reapers. Cage had been excited by her discovery, convinced maybe for the first time that her plan was plausible and he had enlisted half of the security team with their drones and remote cameras to find the girl.

Even with Lorelai’s belief that the black blood grounder hadn’t gone far, that she was still recoverable, Lorelai wasn’t stupid enough to keep all her eggs in one basket. As she has promised Cage, she had performed the first bone marrow transplant just the other day. It had gone well, but it did put them on a timer. There was only so long before her people realised what had happened to the missing Arker girl.

That was the only good thing that may come out of today: the president was still unwilling to use the Arker children but the council was panicked and scared. Scared, desperate people were willing to make decisions they wouldn’t otherwise. Lorelai would guess that if the grounders and the Arkers advanced on Mount Weather as suspected, the council would be banging down her door to extract the bone marrow from those Arkers kids.

But, until that happened, her procedures would remain a secret known only to her and Cage.

It had been hard finding a space where she could do the operation that people wouldn’t stumble across. But while the rest of Mount Weather population were quick to take the treatments that Lorelai offered, most of them avoided the harvest chamber floor as much as possible. It was as if not seeing the grounders made the whole more palatable somehow. Their hypocrisy disgusted Lorelai but it was useful.

Lorelai stopped before a rusty door, fingers glancing over the no-entry sign. She couldn’t hear anything, the room was fully soundproofed, but she imagined the Ark girl was still crying. Not that she blamed her, bone marrow extraction without anaesthetic was painful; but Lorelai couldn’t use those drugs without their loss being noticed. And besides, what was the point of wasting such a valuable commodity. The girl could never be released now.

“Tsing… Lorelai.” 

Lorelai turned around to see Cage marching down the corridor. He looked as exhausted as she felt, his eyes red-rimmed and his usually slick hair unravelling and falling messily across his forehead. The council had been leaning on him hard as the head of security and he had been in more meetings that even Lorelai had been forced to attend.

“They found her.”

Lorelai stared at Cage, her brain lagging as she tried to understand him. She gasped slightly, feeling her mouth split open wide in uncontrollable delight, her teeth bit into the sides of her mouth, sharp enough that she tasted the metallic heat of blood.

“Where is she?” Lorelai demanded.

Cage grimaced. “Lorelai…”

“Have you sent the reapers after her?”

“Lorelai.” Cage’s face was pale, the deep-set lines around his mouth more than just weariness.

“What?” she snapped.

Cage glanced over his shoulder, eyes lingering on the blinking red light of the security cameras. He took her by the arm, dragging her out of sight of the camera so they were pressed up against the cold, concrete wall.

Cage had been holding a black folder at his side, he handed it to her, his expression defeated. Lorelai stared at it for a long moment, feeling her initial excitement twist into something cold and strained. The folder was heavy, unfolding in her hands and spilling out half a dozen photographs. Lorelai stared at them, her mouth tightening.

The photographs were all long shots, pictures taken discreetly from the Mountain’s hidden cameras and Cage’s scouts. The focus of each of them was a dark-haired girl.

Gone was the skinny, dirty waif the reapers had dragged in; the girl in these pictures was barely recognisable. Her hair paler than expected, tumbling down her back in thick curls, an intricate interwoven pattern of braids keeping her hair out of her angular face. In one picture she was wearing a t-shirt more reminiscent of the type of thing the Arker kids had arrived in. But mostly, she was clad in familiar layers of worn leather and makeshift armour.

Lorelai lingered on one photo; girl was stood in front of a big, red grounder tent, dressed in leather, with a strange red cloak flowing from her shoulder. The sun was straining through thick cloud cover, watery light falling in beams behind the girl, colouring the edges of her hair golden like a halo or a crown. A black, dripping mask had been smeared across the grounder’s eyes; her green eyes vivid and glowing. And on their knees, before the girl were half a dozen fully grown grounder warriors, their heads bowed in reverence.

“No,” Lorelai stated, her thumb brushed across the girl’s face, lingering on the familiar golden glint pressed between the girl’s eyebrows. Lorelai had seen that that gear before; all their people had. The grounders used it as a symbol of leadership, of power. Their warlords, the people closest to the commanders wore it braided in their hair, had it carved into the handles of their swords. But only one person was allowed to wear it on their forehead. “It’s not possible.”

She looked up at Cage; he was staring at the picture in Lorelai’s hands looking just as disbelieving as she felt.

Cage met her eyes with a shake of his head. “I didn’t believe it either, but my scouts watched the grounder camp all day, they were watching her. The grounder that Clarke escaped with is their fucking Commander.”

Lorelai looked at the picture of the girl once more; even with her fierce expression and her painted face, her youth was undeniable; there was still a lingering softness to the edges of her cheek, a dewy glow to her skin. She was tall but thin, as if her height had only been recently achieved. Lorelai snorted in anger, in incredulity. “She’s just a child. The Commander that has everyone so scared is a child.”

Lorelai closed the folder, hearing rather than seeing the paper crumple between her hands. Her fingers hurt as she twisted the paper filer. She might mock the grounders for allowing themselves to be led by a teenager but she was also furious with herself for letting the girl escape. For not knowing the value of the girl when she had had her.

Lorelai paused, a thought occurring suddenly. She looked at Cage, “You can’t tell your father. The council will blame us, they will think we aren’t capable – they will replace us.”

Cage hesitated, obviously not having thought about the consequences of his father finding out what they had done. His eyes moved fast, imagining the council’s reaction. As the head of security, it was he who should have stopped Clarke Griffin from being able to break into the harvest chamber. The memory of Clarke made Lorelai’s teeth ache. How could one annoying, traumatised girl have caused so much trouble?

“Ok.” Cage said heavily. “We don’t tell anyone. I’ll destroy the file. As far as anyone will know, it was just a random grounder than Clarke escaped with.”

Lorelai nodded, handing him back the wrinkled, half-torn file. “Did she know?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think Clarke knew? Is that why she took her?” Lorelai looked at Cage, “did she plan all this? Freeing their Commander so she could make an alliance with the grounders?”

It was almost impossible to believe that a teenager could have orchestrated this, that she could have managed so much. But then, they had all underestimated Clarke. Mount Weather had looked at her and seen only her youth, only her fear, and inexperience. But it had been Clarke who had led her people, who had taken them into battle with the grounder army and won. The girl was desperate and clever and she would be arrogant from her recent successes; it was a dangerous combination.

“No. I don’t think.” Cage smoothed out the folder, flipping through it and plucking out a final photo.

This photo was the most recent; the quality was poor, the fading light giving a blurry quality to the picture. The Commander and her guards were entering the Arker camp, fierce and deadly looking even as the Ark guards watched them, guns primed for a fight. Not allies just yet then, Lorelai thought darkly.

“Look.” Cage said, pointing at the Commander. “She’s not wearing the sign of the commander.”

Lorelai squinted. Cage was right. The Commander’s forehead was bare. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Cage shrugged. “But whatever reason she has, this is the end.”

Lorelai shook her head sharply, her mind racing.

“Lorelai.” Cage’s face was pinched with pity, uncomfortable with it. “We can’t get close to her. The Commander has a guard with her all time, she is the epicentre of an army of thousands. Not even the reappears could get close to her.”

“No.”

“You have to let it go; we’ll find some other way. Maybe the boy was lying. There could be more nightbloods-”

“No.” Lorelai interrupted him sharply, “I am not giving up on this. Remember it was the Ice queen who told us where to find her in the first place. Not all her people are loyal to the Commander. We can use that.”

Cage went quiet, uncertain. “You want to use the Ice queen?”

Lorelai nodded. Nia had been a barely thought of ally until now. The so-called Ice Queen was by all reports, brutal and violent but then most grounders were. The alliance Cage had agreed with her has been beneath his notice, agreed to because it was convenient not because it was of any great importance to Mount Weather. If Nia decided not to send her allocated number of grounders into the waiting arms of the reapers then the reapers would go searching for grounders until they found some.

But, and it stung to admit it, they had underestimated Nia. Like they had done with Clarke, as they had done with the Commander, Lorelai and Cage hadn't considered that Nia could plot like they could, that she could trick them. Nia has used them, used their agreement to dispose of the Commander and she had kept her knowledge a secret for a reason.

“The ice queen knew who the girl was, she was using us to get rid of the Commander. She mustn’t be able to move against the Commander herself.” Lorelai looked at Cage, a plan forming in her mind. “Nia will snatch our hands off if we offer to take her once again. She is a grounder, a clan queen. She can help us get access to the girl.”

Cage stared, nodding slowly, “I’ll make contact.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15; we're over half way through. Or at least, that is the plan - this story keep getting bigger and bigger as I write. You can probably guess at this point where things might go plot wise?
> 
> I always found it interesting that the grounders never demanded blood for the village their 100's flare damaged. So well, I decided they should.
> 
> If you're wondering what Lexa and Gustus are talking about; I imagine its mostly them insulting the Arkers fashion sense and Lexa sulking as Clarke is mad at her.


	16. Chapter 16

After the first fraught negotiation, Kane had sensibly called for a recess under the guise of needing food and drink.

The council members were quick to agree and quicker to leave the council chamber; Abby gave Clarke a look filled with such fury as she exited the room that Clarke felt herself recoil as if struck. Things between them had been getting better, tentative bridges being built on both sides. Clarke was aware that she may have just burnt them down. She let herself sink back into her chair, deflated.

“That was very brave of you,” Kane told Clarke lowly once he and Clarke were the only two Arkers remaining in the council chamber. “Very brave and very stupid.”

“They could have asked for a lot more,” Clarke said softly, glancing over at the small group of grounders. The Commander had stood up and Lexa had taken his seat, her face blank and turned away as he and Indra talked over her head. Clarke turned back to Kane. “We have to make this treaty work, and we need them to agree to help us with Mount Weather.”

Kane looked puzzled and Clarke realised he had left before Arkadia had learnt of Mount Weather; he knew nothing of the humans who had been hiding under the mountain, nothing of the kids they had taken, nothing of the harvest chamber. Clarke ran through her story quickly, Kane’s face growing tighter and more lined with each passing moment.

Clarke glanced over at Lexa once again, remembering the wild, half-starved looking girl she had rescued from the harvest chamber. Her hands curled into fists at the memory, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Her people were still in that awful place, by now Mount Weather could have grown tired of treating them like guests, they could be in those cages alongside the grounders. Clarke stood up abruptly, making Kane raise an eyebrow at her sudden surge of energy.

“I have to go and talk to my mom,” Clarke said finally and marched out the council chamber, following the faint sound of voices drifting from the far end of the corridor.

Abby was easy enough to find. Clarke’s mother had shunned the other councillors’ company and retreated to the upper deck. The upper deck was in reality just a long metal walkway that hugged the curved wall of the ship. Narrow windows stretching above the length of the walkway, touching the ceiling. The sun had long since set and the window contained a snapshot of a velvety black night sky, dotted with distant glimmering stars. It reminded Clarke of being in space.

Abby was stood at the far end of the walkway, her face tilted up towards the window, one arm wrapped tightly around her stomach. Her other hand pressed against her mouth, fingers digging deep into her lips as it was taking physical force to keep herself silent.

“Mom?” Clarke asked tentatively.

Abby glanced over at the noise, releasing a noise of unhappiness at the sight of Clarke. Clarke took a step closer.

“No.” Abby replied, hand thrown out as if to ward Clarke off, “I can’t talk to you right now.”

“I was just trying to help.”

Abby sent her a withering look from the corner of her eyes, her arms dropping from their curled-up position against and around her torso. She turned to Clarke, a faint image of the starry sky lingering in the dilated expanse of her pupils. “Trying to help? Is that what that was?”

Clarke’s teeth ground together, biting back her anger. She needed her mother to calm down, she needed Abby on her side so they could continue with the treaty talks, so she could offer up the cure for the reapers to the commander and ask for his help against Mount Weather.

“I know you’re mad but they would have never agreed to continue the peace talks if I hadn’t accepted their deal,” Clarke said finally.

“It wasn’t your place to accept that deal!” Abby snarled “It was their Commander and me who should have come to an agreement; you’re not the chancellor, you’re not even a member of the council. You undermined my authority.”

“But you would never have taken that deal.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t.” Abby looked at her, her eyes were red-rimmed and circled with deep purple bruises. “How could I?”

Clarke went silent. There was nothing she could say to reassure her mother, to lessen the blow of the deal she had agreed to. And they both knew any remorse she had that expressed remorse would be lies. But it didn’t mean Clarke wanted to hurt Abby, it didn’t mean that she wasn’t torn up with worry about what the future held. Clarke stepped gingerly towards her mother, half expecting her to be turned away.

“I should never have let you come into that council room.” Abby sighed and her attention flitted away from Clarke’s face; she was staring blankly into space, looking at something Clarke couldn’t see. “This is my fault.”

Clarke blinked in confusion, “What? How.”

“Because,” Abby said, “I have been letting you break rules, I’ve let you run around; I let you stay with Lexa. I turned a blind eye when you and the others were plotting behind the council’s back. God, Clarke I let you influence my decisions as chancellor.”

Clarke startled, slightly surprised by how much her mother was aware of. She gnawed at her bottom lip, “I’ve just been trying to help my people.”

“I know. I know you have.” Abby shook her head, “And I’ve been so feeling so guilty about what happened to your father, to you, to the other kids that I let you do what you wanted. I have been making excuses for you. But your actions have consequences. And not just for you, what about the other kids? Did they agree to be sold to the grounders?”

Clarke flinched as if struck; her sharp inhale loud. “I did what I had to.” She told her mother quietly.

“No, you did what would get you what you wanted as quickly as possible,” Abby responded sharply. She closed her eyes, running her hands through her hair in violent painful-looking strokes. 

“That’s not fair.” Clarke’s voice was rough. “I know the grounders, I trusted Lexa… I made a decision based on -”

“It wasn’t your decision to make!” Abby snapped, cutting Clarke off. She stepped forward, reaching out to Clarke, taking her by the shoulders with urgent desperation. “Clarke, I know things were tough. I know you felt like you had to lead them, that you had to look after them. But things are different now. They are not your burden to shoulder any more. You’re just a kid. You have to trust that the adults can take care of things, that we would have handled it. I know you think you are helping, but you need to stop.”

Clarke stared at her mother. “I can’t. You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Clarke shook her head, her heart starting to race. Ever since she had left Mount Weather she had been driven, single-minded in her goal of returning to the Mountain, of rescuing her people. Her mother thought Clarke’s drive was trauma and stubbornness; Bellamy and the remaining 100 thought it was altruistic. But the truth of it, the truth that Clarke was barely able to admit to herself, was it was because she felt guilty. Clarke had known something was rotten in Mount Weather. She had searched out the dark underbelly of the bunker and when she had found it, she had fled. She had left her people in Mount Weather at the first opportunity. She could have stayed; she could have found a way to save them all but she hadn’t.

“Clarke, what’s wrong?” Abby asked, eyebrows curling up worriedly into the centre of her forehead.

“I left them in Mount Weather. It was my fault they were there in the first place and I left them. I ran away. I have to help them; I have to save them.” Clarke choked out.

“You did what you had to. You came back to us, to get help.”

“What help?!” Clarke demanded sharply, her sickly all-consuming guilt washing away in a surge of anger. She pulled away from her mother abruptly. “This whole time you and the council have been making excuses about why we can’t rescue my people from Mount Weather. You say I need to stop breaking rules but if I hadn’t, we never would have found out Mount Weather brought down our ship, or that they were behind the acid fog. You never would have agreed to ask for the grounders' help without me.”

Abby's face wavered, a glimpse of something Clarke wasn’t sure she was meant to see wavering behind her eyes.

“Mom, you are going to ask for their help right? We have Lincoln – we can prove we can save the reapers.”

“He’s not fully recovered yet, Clarke.”

“Mom! We need the grounders' help. We can’t fight Mount Weather without them.” Clarke said desperately.

“What if Lincoln dies, what if we can’t cure their reapers?”

“Lincoln’s not going to die, I saw him. He’s fine. You fixed him.”

“I stopped him dying from sudden withdrawal. It is not the same as healing someone.” Abby retorted. “He might get worse still. It would be bad for all of us if the grounders think we are lying; how do you think they will react to empty promises. I would be endangering everyone. And now that you’ve agreed to go with them to their city? I would be putting you in even more danger.”

“Do the council agree with you?” Clarke asked grimly, already feeling her mind whirling, trying to find ways to circumvent their decisions.

Abby looked at her sharply, her eyes narrowed. “I haven’t told them my concerns about Lincoln.”

“You promised.” Clarke said, “You promised you would put the offer to them.”

“Clarke-“

“No, put the offer to them or I will.”

* * *

Clarke slipped back into the council chamber in the centre of a throng of councillors. With them came staff members with food and drink, taken from the feast Clarke knew her mother had ordered to be shared among the Arkers and the waiting grounder soldiers out in the courtyard. She took her uncomfortable seat in the corner of the room, ignoring the cold glare her mother sent her way. Their conversation outside had been abruptly cut off by the call to return to the treaty meeting.

Clarke was fairly sure Abby would have banned her from the council chambers if she could so Clarke had dashed ahead before she could be stopped. Abby might wish her removed, but Clarke knew that she didn’t want to appear like her authority was still being undermined in front of the grounders. Still, her mother’s glare told Clarke that she would not be getting out of this one unscathed.

For all it was Abby who had arranged the meeting to discuss a treaty, it was Kane who led the conversation, surprisingly calm and charismatic as the two groups began to bargain. Abby sat next to Kane stiffly, more subdued than she had been early. Clarke got the impression she was spending most of her energy trying to remain calm; she purposefully did not look at Clarke, her gaze sliding over her like ice.

Soon there was a rapid-fire back and forth as the Commander, through Lexa, and the council negotiated terms of trade and by extension peace. The Ark had little physical to offer trade wise but what they did have was knowledge. The council may have expected to be able to offer baubles for valuable items of survival but they had underestimated the grounders. The Commander was a sharp, hard negotiator and his expressionless face and weapon-laden body still gave the Arkers a sense of unease that he took advantage of. It also helped that everything he said had to be run through Lexa. The grounders played on the Arkers’ lack of understanding of Trigedasleng, talking among themselves and leaving the Arkers in a tense limbo wherever they hit a particularly contentious topic. Clarke found herself wondering if the Commander could understand English, that maybe his refusal to speak a shared language was just another power play.

Soon Clarke could see the skeleton of an agreement beginning to form. She had not given much thought to what the peace treaty would look like, focusing more on what would come next with the war against Mount Weather. Even her mother and council had been thinking only as far as surviving the coming winter, of stopping the impending threat of war. In comparison the Commander’s demands surprised them; the full scope of his vision came into focus, leaving their plans seeming small and limited. There were simple negotiations of beer for water; furs and leather for bandages. But the Commander also demanded permeant trading posts established between the Arkers and Trikru, where trade could be made between their common people in the future.

One particularly contentious demand was around the Arkers joining Trikru, and coming under their authority. It was, Indra argued, the price of the land the Arkers had landed on and one the council fought bitterly against, barely able to hide their disgust at the idea of being ruled by the grounders. In the end, the Commander relented, agreeing to allow the Arkers to remain independent and keep a swarth of Trikru land. In return, the Arkers agreed to pay Trikru for the land by providing medical training to several Trikru healers. The council looked particularly smug at that one but Clarke couldn’t help but think that the Commander had merely been letting them suggest something he had already decided upon.

After the Commander explained the complicated peace treaties and trading allowances that being in his coalition provided, Kane and Abby also agreed that the Arkers would join the coalition with a nominated ambassador joining the Commander in Polis. The council was less pleased about that but grudgingly accepting when they realised that without the coalition, any of the twelve clans would have permission to raid and plunder their lands.

As the negotiations started to draw to a close, Abby finally met Clarke’s eyes. Her mother’s anger had been sanded away, leaving a face full of weary concern and heartbreak. Clarke forced her face to stillness, trying not to show any emotion. Abby sighed, deflating and tilted her head to the door, mouthing something over Kane’s shoulder. Lincoln.

Clarke jolted in understanding and got to her feet, glancing over her shoulder to check as her mother nodded discreetly and then turned away. Despite Clarke’s earlier performance the council barely blinked as she left the room. The only person who glanced at her was a sharp-eyed Lexa, a flash of green between heavy dark lashes as Clarke crept to the door.

Once outside the council chamber, Clarke raced down the corridor, skidding in her haste as she turned a corner. She nearly collided into the glass doors to the medical centre, wobbling to a standstill.

inthe medical centre. He was asleep; his face frowning and twisted in sleep. At his side, Octavia watched him, her fingers drumming agitatedly against the worn hospital blankets as he flinched in his sleep.

“Octavia.” Clarke gasped, leaning against the hospital doorway. Octavia glanced up, instantly alert as she took in Clarke’s breathless state.

“What is it?” Octavia asked standing up, her hand reaching out to where Lincoln’s sword was slung over the back of her chair. “Did something go wrong with the negotiation?”

For a moment Clarke remembered what she had promised the commander about her people’s year of service. It had been the right thing to do, but now she was away from the political talks and the heat of her anger, she was faced with the knowledge that it would not be well received. She glanced at Octavia, imagining how incandescent she would be when Clarke told her she had bargained a year of her brother’s life away.

Clarke’s smile felt fragile, brittle on her face. “No, it’s going fine. But I need you to help me bring Lincoln to the council chamber. We need to show them we can cure the reapers.”

Octavia’s jaw tightened. With practised efficiency she strapped Lincoln’s sword to her back and then leaned over the grounder, waking him with soft words and a hand pressed to his face. Lincoln jolted to consciousness, a big hand darting out, locking around Octavia’s throat. Octavia choked and Clarke jumped, shocked by the violence of Lincoln’s return to consciousness. Just as she was about to throw herself at Lincoln, the man released Octavia.

Lincoln cringed, folding his limbs inwards and hunching into himself with a broken, horrified noise.

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” Octavia said soothingly, reaching out slowly to Lincoln. After a moment he uncurled and accepted her hand, kissing her palm with an ashamed apology.

“Moba, snogon”[1] he murmured.

“It’s not your fault.” Said Octavia fiercely and the two of them clutched at each other, somehow completely alone in a world separate from the hospital wing, from the Ark, from everything. Clarke found herself feeling like she was intruding once again, and coughed awkwardly, gesturing embarrassedly at the door.

Octavia nodded, turning to Lincoln, “Lincoln, I need you to come with us.”

The journey back to the council chamber felt much longer than Clarke’s hurried run to the medical centre. Lincoln moved like an old man, his limbs were weak and uncoordinated. He would be strong again soon, but his withdrawal had been brutal and the seizures had left his body beaten and worn out. By the time they arrived at the council chamber, his face was drenched in sweat, his skin clammy looking.

Clarke looked at him, making a noise of displeasure. She needed for the Commander to believe they had cured Lincoln; it was as her mother had warned, she couldn’t risk the grounders thinking Lincoln might not survive. Octavia sensing where Clarke’s mind was headed, reach out to wipe the sweat from the grounder’s brow.

“Ste yuj.”[2] Octavia murmured to Lincoln, her hand lingering on his jaw. Lincoln stared at Octavia, his jaw tightening and his back straightening as the council doors opened. Clarke nodded at Octavia in thanks and walked back into the council chamber with Lincoln at her side. Octavia’s was frozen in poorly concealed worry as she disappeared behind the closing doors.

Clarke’s entrance back into the council chamber did not go as unnoticed as her disappearance had.

The council and the grounders went quiet, a dozen eyes turning to stare at her.

“Lincoln.” Indra breathed, her eyes were wide in disbelief, her hand coming to rest expectantly on her sword. She stepped in front of the commander and Lexa, poised and ready for a fight.

Lincoln went ramrod stiff at Clarke’s shoulder, his breathing catching a little in his chest. If the grounders were surprised to see him, he seemed as shocked to see them.

“Heda.” Lincoln said and dropped to one knee fast and hard enough that his body shook with the impact. The corner of his mouth twitched at the impact but he disguised it well, bowing his head in respect before the Commander. The councillors’ mumbled to themselves, obviously finding the unexpected show of deference unsettling.

Indra spoke to Lincoln rapidly, and the man stood upright, his movements slow and steady despite the effort Clarke knew it cost him. The Commander spoke sharply, his voice a low rumble. Lincoln glanced at him, his eyes darting between the Commander and Lexa and Indra. A frown briefly appeared between his eyes, disappearing before Clarke could make sense of it.

“It as your people promised,” Lexa said, her eyes were on Clarke as she spoke. There was a flicker of barely contained pride on her face, a twinkle in her eyes.

Lexa blinked, turning away and settling her features into placidly once more, but the moment had been enough and Clarke felt her chest swell with vindicated pride. It meant a lot to see the ever unsurprised, unimpressed Lexa look at her like that: like she was special; like she had done something worthwhile. Clarke found herself biting her lips in an effort to suppress her answering smile.

From the back of the room, Kane waved the council to silence and Abby stepped forward, glancing between Lexa and the Commander.

“I am sure Lexa has told you of what happened in the tunnels near Mount Weather.”

“I did,” Lexa confirmed, her voice almost drawling.

“Lincoln was one of those reapers you ran into; the kids brought him back and I cured him.”

“No one can come back from being a reaper.” Indra spat. “He must not have been a reaper.”

Lexa said something to Indra in Trigedasleng, her voice low and sharp, a warning that had the other woman freezing and snapping her mouth shut.

“I was there, I fought Lincoln while he was a reaper. I did not expect to see him again.” Lexa tilted her head, looking at Lincoln from under the dark mask curling across her face. “Dula yu mema, Lincoln.”[3]

Lincoln swallowed “Bida.”[4] He glanced up at Lexa as he spoke but seemed to be unable to meet her gaze, turned his eyes back to the floor as if compelled. Clarke had never seen Lincoln waver before; he has always been so self-assured, as steady as a mountain. Lexa has said she knew Lincoln from childhood, Clarke would have thought her presence should have reassured him but instead he seemed almost nervous talking to her.

“We must congratulate you,” Lexa said, turning her gaze back to Abby. “No one has ever come back from being a reaper. You must be a very gifted healer.”

Abby blinked, taken aback by the compliment, “The reapers are addicted to something, you need to keep them alive long enough to get through withdrawal. It wasn’t easy.”

The Commander said something under his breath; eyes boring into Lincoln’s bowed head. Lexa glanced at him and then back to Abby.

“It is commendable but the Commander is wondering why you decided to bring him here now?” Lexa’s teeth flashed, a glimpse of white against her dark mouth. “What is it you want?”

Abby opened her mouth to reply and then glanced at Clarke, hesitating. “My daughter was the one who pushed me to try and save Lincoln.” Abby’s mouth was tight, lined as she spoke. Abby nodded at Clarke, “She taught us that Mount Weather is a threat; she tells us that they are a threat to your people as well.”

During Abby’s speech, Lexa had been softly translating to the Commander. Now he spoke, his gruff voice lilting up with a question.

“And what does Clarke know of Maun-de”[5] Lexa repeated softly.

Clarke swallowed and stepped forward, keeping her eyes on the commander. This was the opening she had been waiting for. She glanced at her mother, accepting the terse nod, and began.

“I know the Mountain has been an enemy of your people for a long time. I escaped the mountain; I saw what they were doing. Hundreds of your people are kept in cages, their blood is used as medicine. And the ones that aren’t turned into monsters.”

Indra snorted, her nostrils flaring. “We do not need you to tell us what the mountain has taken from us.”

The council shifted; eyes narrowed. They might not give any weight to Clarke or her mission but they disliked a grounder telling her off all the same.

“They are our enemy as well. They stole my people. They attacked us with acid fog, they caused the crash of one of our ships.” Clarke looked at the commander, trying to maintain eye contact. “We come here to discuss a peace treaty, to negotiate trade but how can we look to the future when our shared enemy continues to take from us in the present.”

The Commander spoke then, a deep rumble that had Lincoln shifting uneasily next to Clarke.

“State your offer openly.” Lexa translated.

“The mountain will not let an alliance between us happen quietly, they will see us as a threat. The only way both our people will survive is if we stop the Mountain. With our weapons and your armies, we can fight them.”

Clarke licked her lips, looking at the Commander’s unmoving face, unable to tell if she was convincing him. Clarke glanced at Lexa hoping for a clue but Lexa’s face was just as unreadable, her eyelids half cast, lazy as she listened. Clarke swallowed, forcing herself taller, trying to emulate their confidence. She had one more bargaining chip, one more ace to pull out her sleeve.

Clarke gestured to Lincoln, “And if you go to war with us, we will cure the reapers.”

The Commander sat silently; his eyes were locked on Clarke unblinkingly. Clarke could feel sweat beading along her back, her tongue had gone dry, cemented to the roof of her mouth. The entire room seemed to be holding their breath.

The Commander looked at Lexa finally.

Lexa looked up at Clarke from beneath her dark brows, her eyes were bright, glowing. The corner of her mouth moved. “It looks like you have your war alliance.”

* * *

Indra breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped back out of the Skaikru’s fallen spaceship.

She had lived a life sleeping under the stars, feeling the wind in her hair; and the lightless, claustrophobic stillness of the Ark made her skin crawl. As she stepped back into the Arkadia’s muddy courtyard Indra felt, for the first time in hours, that she could breathe properly.

At her side, Gustus took a similarly deep breath and they glanced over at each other.

“It is unnatural, living like that,” Indra grumbled under her breath.

“cramped,” Gustus agreed, “No wonder they are all short.”

“Keep your comments for when we are back in camp.” Lexa snapped over her shoulder, not bothering to look at them as she moved quickly to catch up with the Arkers.

Gustus and Indra exchanged guilty glances. To the Arkers, Lexa looked placid and unaffected by the day’s dealing but Indra had seen Lexa grow from orphaned child to the Commander and she could read the unhappy frustration in the girl’s jawline, the tense charged energy as easily as if Lexa had been shouting her unhappiness aloud.

Ahead of them, Lexa was saying goodbye to the blonde skaigirl who had brought her back to camp. Indra and Gustus held back to give her some privacy, watching as Lexa nodded her head at Clarke, barely able to contain the flash of longing on her face as the other girl reached for her, their hands skimming before they parted ways.

At Indra’s side, Gustus made an unhappy noise; his features seemed to fold into the rugged lines of his face.

“You are worried this girl will distract her?” Indra asked quietly.

Gustus shook his head, “Heda will not allow herself to be distracted by a pretty face; she will always do what is needed for her people. But I worry what this may cost her.” He looked at Indra, “You remember Costia.”

Indra’s mouth twisted; of course, she remembered Costia.

Costia had been a mousy little Azgeda flamekeeper. The girl had been a few years older than Lexa and seemed to spend most of her time with her nose in a book. Indra had never understood what Lexa saw in the girl, Costia wasn’t a warrior, she wasn’t brave or funny or loud. If Lexa was a bonfire, Costia had been a puddle; a placid, quiet-spoken girl who never raised her voice or seemed to get excited about anything.

And yet Lexa had been besotted. From the moment they met, she had been utterly devoted to the Azgeda girl. Becoming Commander hadn’t diminished Lexa’s feelings as Indra has suspected it would. Instead, Lexa had elevated the quiet flamekeeper to her consort in all but name. Costia may have shied away from the limelight, but everyone knew she was precious to Lexa. Commanders were known for their promiscuity; Lexa’s devotion had made Costia fascinating; it had made her a target.

When Costia had been killed, it had broken something deep within Lexa. Shattered the last remaining untouched shard of innocence in her. For a while, Indra didn’t think she would ever recover.

“I remember,” Indra said grimly, glancing over at Clarke.

The skaigirl was stood shivering in the shadow of the Ark ship. Like all her people she looked uncomfortable, out of place in the outside world. Her clothes were too thin, she had no braids to keep her hair off her face in the damp weather conditions and it hung limp and frizzing in the rain. A life cramped in the dark had left her short and under-muscled. Indra doubted Clarke could have swung a sword to save her life. Yet, she was still striking; golden and youthful among the faded greyness of her people. And there was no denying the girl was a fighter. The strength of Clarke’s personality, of her leadership, had shone like a beckon in the council chambers. She had been fiery, emotive, forceful. She was single-minded to a fault, and possibly as stubborn as Lexa.

Clarke was nothing like Costia and Indra could see why that might appeal to Lexa.

Clarke’s feelings for Lexa had been written all over the girl’s face when she had exchanged the Commander for the skaiboy. Indra hadn’t read much into it, people fell for Lexa all the time – she was young and beautiful and powerful. But after Costia, Lexa had never shown any interest in anyone and so Indra had barely given Clarke’s crush a second thought. Except it seemed obvious now that Clarke’s feelings were not one-sided. Lexa’s brief interactions with Clarke had been dripping with something charged and heavy, their eyes lingered on each other, pupils blown wide with barely suppressed desire. It was easy to forget that Lexa was a teenager. But there was an urgent, desperate magnetism between her and Clarke that was entirely made up of youthful hormones. It made Indra feel tired just watching them.

“Has she said anything to you?” Indra asked Gustus, knowing that he was her closest confidant.

Lexa had plucked Gustus from obscurity when she has ascended; chosen because she remembered his kindness when she had first been summoned by the previous commander. People had thought Lexa’s decision a childish one, motivated by innocent youthful feeling but Gustus had proven to be a ferocious defender, a constant shadow to the young commander, teetering a line between bodyguard and father figure. If Lexa had spoken to anyone about the skaigirl, it would be Gustus.

“She never speaks of her feelings anymore,” Gustus said. They fell silent as Lexa returned to them, climbing quietly on their horses and leading the small group of warriors out Arkadia.

“Indra,” Lexa called to her, tilting her head and urging her horse ahead of the group, out of range of their hearing. Indra nodded at Gustus and kicked her horse forward to catch up to her Commander.

The placid mask Lexa had been wearing during her time in Arkadia had slipped away, exposing her too-old, piercing gaze. Despite their familiarity, Indra felt herself holding her breath as Lexa looked at her; having Lexa’s full attention was like staring directly at the sun; too bright to be comfortable.

“I need you to befriend Octavia Blake,” Lexa said finally.

“Octavia,” Indra said in surprise. Lexa did that a lot, plucking on new threads of conversation so unexpectedly that she left everyone else blinking in confusion. Lexa’s green eyes were steady, watching as Indra’s mind skipped over her confusion, remembering the fierce, wild skaigirl that had come stomping into her village with a sword to Nyko’s throat. “But Heda…”

“She is close to Lincoln.” Lexa interrupted, “So I need you to get close to her.”

Indra went quiet, understanding what Lexa needed. They had thought Lincoln lost to them; people did not come back from being reapers. Indra hadn’t believed her eyes when Clarke had come back into the council room, trailed by a cured Lincoln. And while Indra was glad to see the man had survived, he was now a problem. He knew who Lexa was.

“You think he will tell the Skaikru?”

“Possibly,” Lexa admitted. They were far enough away from the Ark and its bright electric lights that Lexa’s face was in shadow, only the faint furrow of her brow visible in the dark. “I spared his life while he was a reaper; that will make him hesitate before he reveals what he knows. So, I need you to take Octavia under your wing before he gets past his hesitation.”

Indra nodded grimly understanding the necessary threat underneath Lexa’s request. It was common among the Trikru for children to be mentored by warriors from different villages. The apprenticeship of warriors kept village relationships strong, and the safety of the children was a strong deterrent against raids and fights. It would be the same for Octavia, bringing her into the fold while acting as a deterrent for Lincoln. If Lincoln cared for the skaigirl as much as she did for him, he would know to keep his silence.

“Octavia is not like the others. She has lived her whole life on the edges of their society.” Lexa’s eyes were staring blankly ahead, her mind somewhere Indra couldn’t follow. “She is desperate to belong to something.”

“She is a fighter,” Indra admitted grudgingly; vaguely offended that someone like Octavia had been deemed unworthy by her people. “If Octavia had been born into Trikru she would have been a formidable warrior. I can offer to train her.”

Lexa nodded, “She will make a worthy second.”

Indra glanced at Lexa sharply. She would train Octavia, but the bond between a mentor and their second was so much more than arms training. Children left their families and childhood’s behind when they were chosen to be mentored; they obeyed without question, giving up their futures and lives to follow their mentors. And mentors took on the role of parent and guardian and later blooded companion. It was a sacred bond, the backbone of their society, or their armies. “My second? She is not one of us, she is too old – I cannot take her as my second.”

“I never knew you to be so hung up what you can and cannot do,” Lexa replied tartly, one eyebrow arched.

Indra scowled, biting back her immediate sharp response. She missed the days when Lexa had been a short little girl with skinned knees who hung on Indra’s words and obeyed her without questions.

“Train her for a little, I think she might change your mind.” Lexa continued; her voice softened. “Besides, there is no them and us now. They have agreed to join my coalition. They are Trigedakru now.”

“This is different than the clans joining the coalition. Even with Azegda, we share more than we do not. But Skaikru are aliens to this land. They do not understand us or our way of life, or our language. They do not understand the bond between mentor and second. They are too different than us.”

“I know, it is why we must work to assimilate them.” Lexa’s lip pursed; her face troubled.

Indra glanced over at Lexa, trying to unpeel and decipher the layers of emotion over her face. Indra had thought she would be pleased, victorious after the treaty negotiations. The Skaikru had been lucky when fighting Anya but had proven themselves disorganised and unprepared for life outside their Ark. Lexa had manoeuvred them neatly into accepting a place in her coalition, to agreeing to a trade agreement which would see outposts and a trading hub between Trikru and Skaikru, she had solved her reaper problem and had the war agreement she had wanted. Lexa had beaten Skaikru without spilling a single drop of blood, and come out of it with more than Indra thought possible. So, it was a surprise to see hints of weary uneasy pinching at the edges of Lexa’s face; her jaw was tight with worry.

“Heda, do you think they will betray us?”

Lexa made a noise and for a moment Indra thought she would not answer. “They allied with us because they had no choice. They are easy to manipulate because they think so little of us. But they do not see us as equals and their attitude is a danger to us, to the coalition.”

Indra looked ahead, taking in the Commander’s armies dotted like stars across the dark valley. The other clans had started arriving, called to fight before Skaikru had even thought to ask the grounders for a war agreement. Soon the valley would be teaming with Trigedakru, more than even Skairkru, with their guns, could hope to fight.

“They are weak, we would win in a fight.”

“You should know by now that you don’t need to fight to win a war.” Lexa said softly. “If Skairkru do not assimilate- one day, they will destroy us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I’m sorry, loved one.  
> [2] Stay strong  
> [3] Do you remember Lincoln  
> [4] Some  
> [5] The mountain
> 
> And so we end the treaty negotiations between skaikru and Lexa. This was not my favourite chapter to write, I ended up completely scrapping the first draft and rewriting it. In the first draft, Abby wasn't going to allow Clarke to make a war treaty offer and Clarke went behind her mother's back anyway. 
> 
> The Indra scene at the end was pure indulgence on my part. I love the snippets of Costia and Lexa's life before the 100. I'm pretty sure I have a whole other huge story in me about Lexa's life growing up before Skaikru. Plus insight into Lexa's concerns about the arkers and Octavia.
> 
> Coming up, the Ice nation finally arrive.


	17. Chapter 17

On the Ark, there had been no day or night, just the oppressive expanse of space and a computer which dimmed the Ark’s stark fluorescent lights for eight hours in every twenty-four-hour cycle. Of all the things Clarke had missed when she had come to Earth, waking up to the hum of fluorescent lights had not been one of them.

The artificial lights overheard seared into Clarke’s eyes and she draped her arm over her eyes in an effort to hide a little longer. 

She had slept restlessly. Her dreams disquieting and haunting and Clarke found herself lying still, trying to hold on to already fading memories. In her dreams, she had been wandering in the dark, through the forest near the dropship and the dim shadowy ark corridors. Ahead of her was Lexa, always just out of reach, her dark elaborately braided hair disappearing around corners and behind trees whenever Clarke got close. And then there had been the drum, a war drum which had started slow and faint and grown louder, faster until it was overwhelming, ear busting loud and frantic.

It took Clarke a moment to realise the drumming sound she could still hear was not a lingering crossover from her dream but was coming from the front door of the Griffin chambers: a steady thump of a fist on metal.

She stumbled to the main living room, opening the front door and wincing as the fluorescent light from the corridor flooding the room. Clarke was half expecting to see her mother, come to shout at her after the treaty with the grounders yesterday. Instead, Bellamy was stood framed in the doorway, impatiently tapping his foot.

“Bellamy.” Clarke said in surprise, “Why are you here?”

“Looking for you. No one has seen you since yesterday.” He said shortly, pushing past her into the room.

“Yeah, I –“ Clarke shrugged, running a hand through her hair. Her eyes felt gritty with sleep, her tongue dry and sandpaper-like from dehydration. “The Grounders didn’t leave until really late, I guess I just passed out here, after.”

Bellamy didn’t respond. His eyes were drifting across the room, taking in the quaint, clean kitchen and neatly laid out living-room in the background. Clarke found herself tensing, waiting for his judgement. Both of them knew that before Clarke had been taken to prison, she had lived as close to luxury as one could expect to live on the Ark. Her family’s close friendship with Jaha and her mother’s position on the council had ensured they lived a comfortable life. Bellamy’s life had been different; his family had been poor, living on the lower decks in a single room with too little of everything. The earth had been an equaliser, both of them forced into exactly the same position. But seeing how Clarke’s life had been, and being forced to remember his own had Bellamy’s face closing down, his jaw tensing in bitter memories.

“Bellamy-“

“Let’s go and get some food.” Bellamy interrupted, turning away from the room and striding back to the front door.

“Bellamy –“

“You must be hungry right?” Bellamy said, ignoring Clarke.

Clarke sighed, “Yeah sure.”

And they left the Griffin chambers, closing the door on Clarke’s memories and the undisturbed angry resentment bubbling up in Bellamy.

Outside, the sun was hanging high in the sky, watery light trying and failing to break through the cover of grey clouds. There was a chill in the air that was new to Clarke, and shivered, her chest stinging with each breath. Despite the weather, the atmosphere in the courtyard was buoyant, excited. The dozens of guards who had been patrolling the electric fences had been reduced to a few men stood at the gates; gates which Clarke was surprised to see had been pushed wide open. Even the usual tense faces of the general populace were relaxed, laughing and joking carefree.

“They’re this happy about the treaty?” Clarke wondered as they joined the line for food.

“They’re this happy for food.” Bellamy corrected and Clarke understood what he meant as they came to the front of the line. A half-eaten pig on a spit was being rotated over a fire. The smell of meat made Clarke’s mouth water and her stomach growled greedily. “Wow.”

“Yeah, makes you realise how bad the slop we’ve been eating is,” Bellamy said with a smile and the tension between them cracked and fell away. Clarke breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing as they were served, and found a little table in the corner of the courtyard.

Clarke dropped down onto a wobbling upturned box. The promised winter was starting to make itself known and the wooden seat felt almost damp from the cold, causing her to wince at icy fingers reached her through her thin jeans. Clarke poked at the roasted meat filling her plate thoughtfully.

“Where did the pig come from?” Clarke asked, remembering their parties failed hunting exercise. “Did the guards catch this?”

“No. It was the grounders; they came this morning with the food and water.” Bellamy said. “Looks like our new allies can be very efficient when they want to be.”

“Apparently.” Clarke sat up straighter, a thought occurring to her. “Have you seen my mom?”

Bellamy glanced at her, “Yeah, she left with some of the grounders. Didn’t she tell you?”

Clarke stabbed at her meat, her fork striking the metal tray with a screech. “No, I haven’t seen her since the treaty.”

After the grounders had left Arkadia the night before, Clarke had gone searching for her mother, not wishing to let the tension between them build any further. Except she hadn’t found her – Abby hadn’t been in the council chambers, or the medical tent or even in their old chambers back on the ark. It seemed like Abby’s efforts to avoid Clarke were not over yet. “Where did they go?”

Bellamy shrugged, “She took a party of soldiers and medical staff to the dropship.”

“Our dropship?” Clarke asked, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.

“Yes, she is going to scope out the ship, see if they can make it into a make-shift medical facility to house the reapers going through withdrawal.” Bellamy shrugged, “I guess the council thought it was a good idea not to have a load of high reapers sleeping in the centre of our camp.”

Clarke winced, unable to disagree with him. They had seen the reapers fight, if even one of them got loose there would be a massacre. But the dropship didn’t seem like a good idea either.

Clarke felt her mouth twist in unease, remembering Lexa’s barely contained horror at the ash-covered remains of the charred grounder warriors. “We killed a hundred of their warriors at the dropship. Does the Commander know about this?”

“It was the grounders' idea. Indra came to speak to Abby about it this morning. They left together.” Bellamy ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Lincoln and my sister went with them.”

“Lincoln will look after her.”

Bellamy huffed, “He was a reaper less than a week ago.”

Clarke made a noise of understanding. She knew Octavia’s safety wasn’t Bellamy’s only concern; his sister’s affinity for grounder culture had been obvious for a while and with it, the distance between the Blake siblings had been growing, Octavia was slipping away in inches. Clarke suspected that Bellamy wanted nothing more than to keep her locked away in Arkadia, as far as away from the grounder influence as possible, lest he was left behind entirely.

“But at least they’re curing the reapers,” Bellamy said, nudging Clarke’s shoulder. He looked lighter, more relaxed than Clarke has seen him for a while and her stomach churned. She had not been the only shouldering a feeling of responsibility for their people trapped in Mount Weather. 

"Looks like your plan worked”

Clarke dropped her fork, unable to take another bite of her food. The suppressed anxiety and guilt she had been feeling all morning rose like bile in her throat. Bellamy’s praise was almost unbearable, and she found she couldn’t look at him, could stand the sight of his smile. Her teeth dug into the soft flesh inside her mouth, hard enough to sting. “Bellamy there is something I have to tell you.”

Bellamy looked at her expectantly; eyebrow raised.

“At first the grounders wouldn’t even talk about the treaty. They kept going on about us needing to pay reparations for the trikru village our flare burnt down.” Clarke said, stumbling over her words. “The flare, it killed people – children.”

“That wasn’t our fault. It was an accident.”

“I know.” Clarke shook her head, “but they didn’t care. They said we owed them blood for the blood we had spilled.” She looked at Bellamy, beseechingly, “I had no choice, they wouldn’t have agreed to the treaty or to help us fight mount weather otherwise.”

Bellamy’s expression was closing off, shutting down into one of familiar serious intensity. His jaw tightened, reading something in her face he didn’t like. “Clarke what did you do?”

“They wanted a year from each of us: you, Finn, Raven and me. And there another six years we have to pay back among us.”

“A year of what?” Bellamy asked flatly.

Clarke swallowed, “Lexa called it servitude. We are to go with the commander back to their city, to work off our debt.”

“What the fuck, Clarke.” Bellamy stood up, the suddenness of his movement rocked their table, sending their cups tumbling to the ground with a crash. People had turned to look at them, peering over their shoulders with vague curiosity. Clarke gritted her teeth, hissing at Bellamy to sit down. The last thing she wanted was for them to become gossip fodder.

Bellamy ignored her, staring down at her, all the shared humour and victory between them gone. “You sold us. You sold me to our enemies?”

“I didn’t…They’re not our enemies.”

“For now!” Bellamy snapped back, “You’ve seen these people! You saw the traps, what did they did to Murphy. We can’t trust them –

“We have to trust them! We just made a treaty with them!”

“A treaty is not the same thing as sending us defenceless into the epicentre of a grounders camp! Do you even know what this servitude is? They could be planning to work us to death.”

Clarke gaped at him, ““It won’t be like that! Lexa said –“

“Oh, Lexa!” Bellamy laughed humourlessly. “You know, I was wondering when things would come back to her. Certainty a surprise when she told us she was part of the commander's personal guard!”

Clarke stared up at him, her jaw tight. “I didn’t know about that.” Around them, the other tables had stopped eating, falling silent and still to watch as they shouted at each other. Bellamy’s face was tight, lined with fury, uncaring of the watching eyes focused on them.

“You sure about Clarke? You were awfully close to her; kind of strange that she kept that from you.”

“She was trying to protect herself; she didn’t tell me anything!” Clarke hissed.

“I guess you two were busy doing others then?” Bellamy’s face twisted, “You know, you sure moved on from Finn quickly.”

“How … dare you!” Clarke pushed herself to her feet, glaring at Bellamy across the table. Her heart was racing in indignation, drumming against her ribs. She could feel herself getting hot, unfeeling to the cold chill in the air.

For a moment Bellamy looked as surprised at his words at Clarke, but then his face closed off, his eyes dark and angry, burning down into her. 

“Lexa lied to us Clarke.”

“She also helped us. She saved your life. She saved Octavia”

Bellamy wavered, caught off guard by the mention of his sister. Bellamy’s soft spot was always Octavia but Clarke refused to feel bad about pressing against it, using it to fight against him. Not after Bellamy’s comments about her and Finn, after his comments about Lexa.

“I didn’t have a choice.” Clarke snapped, continuing before Bellamy could respond. “They wanted to kill us; it was a good offer.”

Bellamy stared at her, his expression dark and distant. “Let’s hope your right princess.”

And then he was gone, marching away across the damp courtyard, his back rigid. Clarke called after him but Bellamy didn’t bother glancing back.

* * *

Clarke’s previously enticing roasted pork looked limp and slimy on her plate; made all the more unappetising by the whispering that surrounded her. Sighing, she took the bowl back to the kitchen, ignoring their tutting at her half-finished meal.

Clarke was certain that her and Bellamy’s heated conversation had been overheard and shared through the whole camp now. She loathed the idea of going back to the oppressive, dark rooms of the Ark but being outside made her feel exposed, vulnerable. Before she had made a conscious decision to leave, her feet had taken her to the gate and Clarke was striding out of Arkadia and into the scorched wild fields that surrounded their little settlement.

The Arkers had been quick to strip back the nature in their camp; the courtyard had trampled to water-logged gravel and mud. Any trees that had survived the initial landing of the ship had quickly been felled to provide wood for fires or the fences. Electric lights had been strung up overhead clusters of polyester tents. And the whole camp had been encircled in metal and barbed wire fences. And yet, within a few paces, Clarke found herself dropped right back into the wildness.

Wild grass brushed against her knees, damp and drooping with moisture. The ground under her feet was uneven, scattered with pebbles that felt huge beneath her thin soles. Ahead the valley started to slope upwards, and the young weedy-looking trees were replaced by densely packed pines, so tall that Clarke had to bend her neck backwards to see the tops of them. Instead of tackling the forest, Clarke turned right, wandered aimlessly through the flat grassy valley until Arkadia was a small grey cluster in the distance behind her.

Weary with exhaustion, Clarke sank down into the shadow of a cluster of oversized rocks, shivering as the cold seeped into her from the stone. In the tall grass, she was hidden, only the top of her golden head visible. Clarke brought her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her calves and pressed her face down into the shadows between her knees.

She should have been used to fighting with Bellamy and the other 100. It hadn’t exactly been a smooth rise to leadership for her when they had first landed on earth. Clarke had had Wells and Finn, but otherwise had been fairly isolated, a part of the 100 but a bit too different to really fit in. She still didn’t quite fit but she had their respect, their trust. Or at least she had. Bellamy had left her with such a look of anger, it had physically hurt. Worse, she knew that when she returned to camp, he would have told the others and they would look at her in exactly the same way.

And Clarke was starting to think maybe they were right. Maybe her mother was right, maybe she should have found a different deal. Maybe she had been too focused on getting what she wanted without thinking of the consequences. Her single-minded, guilt-fuelled goal to save the kids in Mount Weather had caused to her put the rest of her people in danger. Maybe she had made a mistake.

The grass rustled and Clarke looked up, still half lost in her own thoughts.

From the undergrowth, amber eyes flashed.

A cry of surprise escaped Clarke and she shot upright, pressing herself against the rocks. Her heart lodged itself into her throat and her hands shook as she scanned the grass. She was suddenly aware that she had no weapons, nothing to defend herself with. No one knew she had left Arkadia and she too was too far away for anyone to hear her call for help. Clarke cursed herself; she had only been back with the Arkers for a couple of weeks but already she had forgotten how dangerous the Earth could be

To the left of her, the grass swayed a whisper of clothing and faint steps. Clarke spun to face the noise. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” she called, her voice cracking with fear.

“Skaikru?”

From the undergrowth, a grounder warrior unfolded himself. He was carrying a bow and arrow, his face painted in green and black. Clarke stared back at him, silent with fear. The warrior scanned her; his amber eyes narrowed. Clarke glanced at his bow; it was lowered to his side but still cocked.

“Our people are allies now,” Clarke said, her voice calmer than she felt. “I was there when your commander and my chancellor agreed on a trade deal.”

The warrior huffed, seemingly disappointed, before looking to the right and shouting something. Clarke didn’t understand him, but she knew he was calling for someone’s attention and she tensed, her muscles getting ready to run if she had to.

“Clarke?”

Clarke knew that voice, only one person said her name with a hard clicking ‘K’. Clarke looked up; stood at the top of the steep embankment of the valley was a slender, dark-haired grounder.

“Lexa” Clarke breathed, her muscles turning to jelly at the sight of the familiar girl. Even with the distance between them, Clarke could tell when Lexa cocked her head to the side observing her like a curious bird. More grounders had joined Lexa on the embankment, and Clarke felt her face heat up as she realised their attention was all firmly on her.

“Bants,”[1] Lexa said finally to the grounders at her back. There was a grumble of discontent, but none of the grounders openly protested, fading away back into the undergrowth as if they had never been there.

Lexa made her way down the embankment quickly, nodding at the amber-eyed grounder whose gaze had dropped to the floor at her approach.

“You should catch up with the others.” She told him slowly, obviously speaking English for Clarke’s benefit.

The grounder shuffled, looking almost pained. “ba, Heda –“[2]

“Daun laik hedon.”[3]

“Sha,”[4]

Then the grounder was gone, sparing Clarke a bitter look before running up the embankment and into the forest. Clarke shivered, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. Despite her initial relief at seeing Lexa, the sudden spike and drop in adrenaline had left her shivering, shaking. 

“You should not be here alone,” Lexa said slowly.

“Our people are allies now,” Clarke said back tartly, her arms were like bands across her chest, fingers digging into her ribs as she held herself tight.

“In name, yes, but true friendship takes longer.” Lexa’s green eyes were glowing, piercing. “Why are you out here alone?”

Clarke gave a mirthless laugh and let herself slid down the rock until she was resting at Lexa’s feet, unable to hold herself upright any longer. “I needed to get away from my people.” She glanced up; Lexa was watching her, head cocked once again. “Why are your people here?”

“They are going hunting.”

“For more pig?”

“For reapers.”

“Oh.” Clarke's mouth dropped open in surprise. Bellamy hadn’t been wrong; the grounders did move fast when they wanted to. She had a sudden stab of anxiety at the thought of her mother in the dropship preparing to receive reapers.

“Are you ok Clarke?” Lexa asked quietly.

Clarke nodded, “I’ll be fine.” She glanced up to see Lexa watching her, “Could you stay with me for a bit?”

There was a shuffle of clothes as Lexa came closer to Clarke, gracefully folding herself to the ground. “I can do that.”

Clarke glanced over at Lexa, taking her in properly for the first time. Lexa’s warpaint was gone today, her face softer, her eyes bigger without it. She was wearing all black, a leather jacket instead of the red cloak she had worn at the treaty meeting. Sitting crossed-legged at Clarke’s side, she looked almost like the Lexa Clarke remembered, the girl who Clarke had fallen asleep wrapped around. Clarke’s fingers itched with the sudden urge to reach out and pull Lexa closer, to remind herself of the silky soft feel of the girl’s skin.

Lexa’s mouth twitched, her eyes gleaming as if she could read Clarke’s thoughts and she inched closer slowly, her thigh coming to press against Clarke’s. It was too cold, but Clarke imagined she could feel the warmth of Lexa’s skin seeping through her jeans. Clarke found her hand reaching out to rest on Lexa’s thigh, holding her as if she was scared Lexa would leave at any moment.

Above them, the grey clouds had finally passed and chilled dampness was replaced by crisp, wintery warmth. Lexa’s face was tilted upwards, her skin was golden in the sunlight; sunbeams had lit up the fly-away strands of her hair and her face was ringed in a fire-touched halo. Clarke wanted her so much at that moment it almost hurt.

Clarke had been alone for a long time. Her father’s death and her experience on Earth had left her isolated, dealing with trauma and betrayal. Her mother didn’t understand her anymore, and her position as a leader meant there was a distance between herself and the other 100; she hadn’t even realised how alone she was until Lexa. In Arkadia, Lexa had been Clarke’s as much as a person could be someone else. Being the focus of Lexa’s attention had been like standing in the beam of a lighthouse but where others might have shied away, Clarke had found herself basking in the intensity of Lexa's attention. For the first time in a long time, Clarke had felt understood, seen. And Lexa was beautiful; intelligent and enigmatic. It was no wonder Clarke had fixated on her right back.

Clarke’s discovery of Lexa’s true position hadn’t diminished her attraction but it had complicated it. It had felt personal, hurtful and there had been a point where Clarke had wondered if it would ruin things between them. But Clarke realised she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care that Lexa had lied or told the commander her secrets. Clarke didn’t care that Lexa was a grounder, whose loyalty would always be split. Clarke wanted Lexa, she wanted whatever stolen moment they could get.

Thoughtless, driven by impulse, Clarke rocked up onto her knees and reached out to Lexa. Her hands curled around the girl’s face, dragging her close. Lexa released a noise of surprise, tensing in Clarke’s hands before going limp, her lips parting eagerly.

Clarke didn’t want to feel alone anymore, and from the desperate noises Lexa was making into her mouth, Clarke suspected Lexa felt the same.

Somehow, they ended up tumbling backwards, lying on their sides, their limbs entangled. They shivered against each other, exchanging desperate hot kisses, greedy hands grasping and tugging at each other. Lexa sighed into Clarke, her eyes wide and vulnerable.

“I thought you were angry at me.”

Clarke licked her lips, her mouth felt swollen, hot. “I am.”

Lexa frowned, “Then why – “

“I understand why you did what you did.” Clarke said, “You were right, I would have done the same thing. And even though I’m angry, I still miss you. I still want you.”

Clarke’s fingers trailed up along Lexa’s cheekbone, tracing the sharp lines of the girl’s features and tangling into Lexa’s hair, catching in the elaborate braids.

“I wish we could go back.” Clarke said softly.

“Go back?”

“To when you were in Arkadia with me. Things were simpler.”

“They only appeared simpler.” Lexa corrected softly; there was a small furrow between her eyebrows, a little line of worry that Clarke had rarely seen on her face. Lexa sighed and her face went back to carefully controlled placidity. “I did not dislike my time with your people.”

Clarke laughed “Really? Even with all the suspicion and the guards and the food?”

“Even with all that,” Lexa said with a shadow of a smile. “Your people treated me well mostly, and I got to know you.”

Clarke felt her humour crumpling, her hunger for Lexa abating. Bellamy’s accusations were ringing in her ears; she wondered what he would think of her if he could see her now. She rolled onto her back to stare up at the pale sky, watching as a faint gliding shadow of a bird sailing over them.

“Clarke?”

“My mother, Bellamy. Everyone is mad at me for the deal I made.” Clarke began softly, her gaze still locked upwards, “and I’m starting to think they’re right. I agreed to our servitude, I think I made a mistake.”

Lexa was quiet, the silence between broken up only by the faint rustle of grass around them. Clarke was scared to look at her, scared of what she would see in Lexa’s face. Lexa knew the commander, she would know if the deal Clarke had agreed to was fair, or if she had been tricked.

Lexa sighed and sat up, her back to Clarke. Clarke's greedy fingers had teased Lexa’s hair out of her neat braids and her hair was wild, a mane of curls and knotting waves. When Lexa spoke, her face remained turned away, her voice was measured, distant.

“My people have a saying; blood must have blood. The deaths of our people should have been met with your people’s deaths. The commander’s decision to allow your people to pay reparations through servitude was not popular.”

Clarke made a noise of surprise. When the Ark leaders made unpopular choices, everyone made their unhappiness known. In comparison, the grounders had presented an almost united front. Indra had been angry admittedly, but Clarke had thought the woman’s bloodthirstiness had been a negotiation tactic. She wondered why the commander had decided to divert from tradition.

Clarke “Then why didn’t the commander demand we die?”

Lexa glanced over her shoulder at Clarke. The angles of her face were sunkissed, her eyes as pale as spring leaves. “Our people must learn to live with each other. To do that we must understand each other; this was a way to forge bonds between our people.”

“Huh.”

Clarke found herself blinking in surprise. She had not considered the deal the commander made could have been for that purpose. Even after everything she had only seen a threat, violence in the grounder’s actions.

“Clarke, being a leader sometimes means making unpopular decisions, making choices no one else can or will make.” Lexa continued, “It is good that you reflect on your choices; it shows you can take advice, that you will recognise mistakes and not make them again. But you made the right choice, you made the only choice. It was servitude or death.”

When Lexa spoke, it was with such certainty, such understanding of the political situation they were in. Clarke was reminded of the other times Lexa had spoken of being a leader.

Clarke stared at Lexa, searching her face; wanting to capture the image of her in her mind. Lexa golden and unraveled in the autumn sun, with her wild, teased out mane of hair and her strange, piercing eyes and her red, swollen mouth. 

A question lingered on the tip of Clarke’s tongue; it was a question that had started as a faint whisper in the back of her mind many days ago and grown into something louder until it was almost deafening. But she was scared to ask, scared to find out the answer. Clarke levered herself upright, shifting until she and Lexa were sat shoulder to shoulder.

“Lexa –“

The bellow of a horn ripped across the valley suddenly. A distant brassy tone, that echoed as it died, only to be replaced by another bellow, this one closer, louder.

“Azgeda,” Lexa breathed.

“What?” Clarke said, glancing around. The horn was still blowing, louder and louder each second. And now she could hear drums, dozens of steady beats against skins. Just like her dream.

“Clarke, you must go now.” Lexa shot to her feet, reaching out to tug Clarke upright. She was strong, much stronger than Clarke and Clarke found herself dragged upright, tripping over her own feet at the force. Lexa gave a shove, sending her stumbling forward.

“Lexa, what is going on.” Clarke snapped, slapping Lexa’s hands away.

“It is Azgeda.” Lexa said urgently, “The Ice nation. That is the sound of their army. I did not think they would arrive this soon.”

Clarke blinked at Lexa. Lexa’s eyes were wide, her hair wild around her face. The Ice nation were the ones from Lexa’s story, the ones who had killed her lover. Clarke swallowed and nodded, “Ok, I’ll go back.”

“I have to go but Milo will escort you.” Lexa said, she looked up into the tree and whistled sharply, the noise a high piercing sound.

From the overgrown embankment, a grounder warrior stepped forward, hurrying over to them. Clarke gaped at him and then at Lexa.

“You knew he was there.” Clarke hissed under her breath, heat rushing to her face in humiliation. “He was watching us?”

“Not us, he was watching over me,” Lexa said with a small wince. “I’m sorry, Clarke. I will explain later. But for now, I just need to know you are safe. Please.”

Clarke simmered, swallowing back the familiar metallic taste of her anger. She wanted to explode at Lexa, to tell her and Milo to leave her alone but Lexa’s eyes were wide, wild with something close to fear. Clarke had never seen Lexa scared before, not when she had been shot by Finn, not even in Mount Weather.

“OK.” Clarke bit out finally.

Lexa sighed in relief. Milo was stood a few paces away, ready and waiting. Lexa sent him a few hurried orders in Trigasleng, and he nodded at her, bowing his head in greeting at Clarke.

“Go now.” Lexa said to Clarke, she reached out and squeezed her hand, “The Ice nation is dangerous, Clarke. Do not go out by yourself again.”

* * *

“Where is she?”

“The Commander will be here momentarily.”

“Momentarily,” Nia repeated under her breath, glaring at the sour-faced flamekeeper. “What could be more important than greeting the Queen of Azgeda.”

Titus stared flatly at her, unable to disguise his distaste. Titus and Nia had only ever exchanged a handful of words, but Nia knew him well. Titus had spent a lifetime creeping in the shadows of those more powerful than himself, whispering in the ear of commanders. He was the one who had picked Lexa as the next commander, he was the one who had taken Costia on as his apprentice. Nia wondered if he hated her more for what she had done to Lexa, or to Costia.

Not expecting an answer, Nia leaned back into her chair, the wood creaking at the movement. Her journey from Azgeda had been long and uncomfortable. Days of trudging through constant rain and sleeping on the hard, frozen ground had left her stiff and aching. Nia’s mood had only grown worse with each update from her spies. There had been no news of her son; if Lexa still had Roan, she was keeping him hidden away.

And it seemed Lexa had decided to ally herself with Skaikru and fight the Mountain.

Lexa’s alliance with the Skairkru was unpopular, but then the coalition hadn’t been popular initially either. Nia knew well enough that if Lexa had chosen peace over war, it meant she had seen there were things to exploit in this new partnership. But for now, the clans were tense, grumbling with distrust. Nia could use that; she could turn the other clans against this partnership, against Lexa.

The curtain at the back of the tent jerked open suddenly, the clang of weapons and heavy feet filling the room. Nia remained in her seat but the rest of the room rose to their feet, bowing as the Commander swept into the tent.

The commander’s tent was no Polis but Lexa had made her throne room as much of a spectacle as possible, filling the tent with rich fabric and dragging the antler throne onto a dais at the far end of the tent. A position of power for the commander: sat above those who had to come and show their loyalty.

It had been a couple of years since Nia had seen Lexa in person and she drank in the sight of the Commander greedily, examining Lexa as if would reveal her secrets. Lexa was still as slender as a tree branch but her limbs were more muscular, her face sharper, and her eyes still those strange, impossible old green eyes that had left so many people believing in the mystic nonsense of the flame. Her cheeks were flushed, pink as if she had been running and her war paint was fresh, glistening wetly. Nia held back a smirk; Lexa must not have been expecting her then.

“Greetings Queen Nia.” 

“Greeting Commander.” Nia responded, “Azgeda has answered your call to war.”

Lexa smiled humourlessly, and delayed responding as she swept out her cloak and settled back into her throne, her movements lazy. It was a petty display; no one but Nia could sit until Lexa did and the room remained poised, waiting for Lexa’s nod. Like all things between them, it was a display of power, Lexa reminder to Nia that she wielded power over Nia’s own people. Loathing curdled in Nia’s gut, filling her with bile.

“You arrived much quicker than I thought possible,” Lexa said finally, head tilted, finger stroking the gnarled arms of her throne.

Nia sneered, “Maybe for Trikru, but my army is fast and strong.”

“Or maybe your army was on its way before my summons.” Lexa drawled; sounding almost bored. It was as close to an accusation as Lexa would get, an unsubtle jab to let Nia know that her movements hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“I had heard the reapers had taken you, Azgeda was concerned that our commander had been...disposed” Nia replied after a moment.

“Yes, I’m sure you were.” Lexa’s smile was all teeth, her eyes ice shards. “Luckily, rumours of my death were greatly exaggerated. I feel you need better informants.”

Nia seethed silently. There was an arrogance to Lexa’s mockery, a dangerous sharpness that she had always hidden before. Did Lexa know Nia had had a hand in her disappearance? Maybe this was why Lexa had taken Roan. The commander was finally going to seek retribution.

“The rest of the clans’ armies will be here by the end of the week.” Lexa continued, her face was marble-like once more, completely unreadable. “We shall need the strength of the coalition to defeat the mountain.”

“And the Skairkru?” Nia asked grimly, raising an eyebrow. “Are your armies so weak you need their strength too?”

Lexa’s mouth twitched. “I gave them an offer, join the coalition and accept the commander’s authority or prepare for war. I believe it was the same offer I gave you.”

Nia’s teeth stabbed into the soft parts of her mouth, hard enough that her mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. At her back, she could feel her guards shifting, insulted. Lexa's hand was laid loosely on the sword in her lap but the guards behind her throne betrayed her, their hands curling warningly around the handles of their weapons.

“They are weak, they do not know anything about earth or how to survive here. They lie and betray as easily as they breathe. You demean us all by allying with them.” Nia spat.

“You have very strong opinions considering your people have never come into contact with the Skaikru?”

Nia felt herself barring her teeth like a cornered dog. “I have heard of their behavior.”

Lexa’s face was placid, serene in comparison to Nia’s increasing anger. She blinked slowly; green eyes a predator's gaze. “I thought we had already established you need better informants.”

There was a long pause, Lexa and Nia staring at each other in silence. Lexa was sprawled out in her throne, youthful and arrogant and strong. There was a sword draped over her lap, a knife strapped to her thigh. At thirteen, Lexa had already been an exceptional warrior and unlike some commanders who quickly became bloated and weak, Lexa had hardened like a diamond, growing in strength and skill with every year. She was everything anyone would want in a Commander, at the peak of her physical and political power. In comparison, Nia felt overheated in her bleached furs, her bones aching from days of riding and old age. She had never been much of a fighter, and they both knew in a fair fight Lexa would easily beat her.

Not that it mattered; you didn’t need to fight to win a war and Nia had no intention of fighting fair. Their meeting had been telling, Nia had seen she need to see.

“It has been a long journey,” Nia said finally, standing up. “I should get back to my camp.”

“Hmm. Yes, your camp.” Lexa looked up at Nia from beneath the heavy sweep of her eyelashes. “You have camped your army very far from the rest of the clans.”

Nia’s mouth pulled back in a twisted imitation of a smile, “I think we do better with a bit of distance, Commander.”

“If you think so.” Lexa gesturing towards the exit, a picture of a gracious leader “You should rest.”

Nia forced a brief bob of her head and then turned to leave, ignoring the hurried shuffling as her guards following in her wake. She had hoped the Commander’s stay in Mount Weather and the skai people’s camp would have weakened Lexa but she looked stronger than ever and their barbed conversation had left Nia wih feeling uneasy. She was sure that Lexa knew she had had something to do with her capture by Mount Weather; and for Lexa to make it so obvious that she knew meant the commander was planning something.

Outside, Ontari was waiting for Nia. Like many of their warriors, Ontari had stripped herself of her outer furs, unused to the warmer, wet climate and her arms were bare to the elements, white ridged scars swirling down her forearms. It had been tempting to bring the girl with her to greet Lexa, an unknown threat as the Commander postured. But after her failed attempt to get rid of the Commander, Nia was moving carefully, waiting for the right moment.

“Well?” Nia demanded.

“The commander was with a Skai girl.” Ontari said, “That was why she was late coming to greet you.”

Nia sneered, “She was plotting with them again?”

Ontari hesitated.

“Spit it out, don’t keep me waiting.”

“They were kissing,” Ontari said finally.

“Kissing?” Nia stopped abruptly, a laugh escaping her. After Costia, Lexa had closed herself off, distanced herself from people. She had learnt the hard way that attachments were weakness and no matter how hard Nia had looked, there had been no lovers, no partners to exploit.

Or there hadn’t been until now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Leave us  
> [2] But, Heda  
> [3] That’s an order  
> [4] Yes
> 
> This chapter was planned to have another scene, but it got so long that I had to cut it off here. I have injured my wrist so typing is a little hard right now, so please be patient with me for the next chapter!


End file.
